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THE  SON  OF  PIO 


ENTV«  OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  SON  OF  PIO 


BY 

C.  L.  CARLSEN 

AUTHOB  OP  "THE  TAMING  OP  CAUNGA' 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

681   FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY   E.  P.  DUTTON   &   COMPANY 


Att  Rights  Reserved 


printed  In  the  dittoed  States  of  Hmerica 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I  A  LITTLE  MISTAKE 1 

II  THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     ....  22 

III  PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 49 

IV  A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS 84 

V  THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO 96 

VI  RENUNCIATION 113 

VII  THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH 135 

VIII  So  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS 146 

IX  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  DEVIL      .  156 

X  A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE 163 

XI  CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL 181 

XII  THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  o'  YOURN     ....  205 

XIII  THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES 248 

XIV  THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO  259 


2126503 


THE  SON  OF  PIO 


THE  SON  OF   PIO 


CHAPTER  I 

A  LITTLE   MISTAKE 

"Dam',  dam',  dam'  de  Filipino, 
Poc'-marke',  cagueyac  ladrone! 
An'  beneaz  de  starry  flag 
Civilizth  heem  wiz  a  Krag, 
An'  return  us  to  our  own  beloved  hum." 

AGAIN  and  again  the  clear,  sweet  voice  of  a 
girl  floated  the  words  over  the  river,  while 
a  shrill,  whistled  accompaniment  added  a  snap 
that  was  lacking  in  the  singer's  effort.  The  dug- 
out which  served  Pacifico  and  Emiliana  as  the 
school-house  of  their  new  game,  "the  American 
School  for  Girls,"  drifted  farther  and  farther 
from  the  river-bank.  The  lad,  who  played  the 
master  part  of  teacher  by  virtue  of  his  masculine 
superiority  and  of  actual  experience  in  school, 
was  so  intent  upon  securing  perfect  mimicry  of 
such  a  recitation  as  had  led  the  negro  garrison  of 
the  town  to  dub  the  local  institution  of  learning, 
a  Howling  School,  that  he  failed  to  observe  the 
imminent  prospect  of  a  plunge  in  the  river,  or 

1 


2  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

the  more  terrifying  danger  embodied  in  the  per- 
son of  the  approaching  ferryman's  passenger. 
Maintaining  his  graceful  poise  in  the  stern  of  the 
rocking  canoe  with  the  careless  clutch  of  his  bare 
toes  on  the  gunwales,  his  body  swaying  in  unison 
with  the  time-beats  of  his  hand,  he  thought  only 
of  the  perfection  with  which  Emiliana  mastered 
the  lesson  he  was  teaching  her. 

Now  and  then  the  girl  glanced  over  the  edge  of 
her  banana-leaf  "book,"  dropping  her  eyes  again 
quickly,  lest  such  inattention  call  forth  a  volley 
of  simulated  reproof  from  the  diminutive  teacher. 
Despite  her  apparent  docility,  Emiliana  was 
aware  of  the  more  immediate  danger.  Nor  was 
the  threatened  bath  alluring.  Though  undoubt- 
edly meritorious,  a  bath  is  not  always  appropriate, 
— nor  convenient,  even  to  an  expert  swimmer. 
But  Pacifico  had  a  temper, — sometimes. 

"You  will  fall?"  she  finally  ventured  once  more, 
a  pleasing,  solicitous  plea  for  his  welfare  in  her 
voice. 

"Emiliana!"  the  boy  protested,  a  staccato  snap 
to  each  syllable  of  the  name.  Eemembering  the 
punishment  that  Maestro  Gerardo,  teacher  of  the 
local  Howling  School,  would  have  inflicted  for 
such  an  interruption,  he  yelled  at  the  full  power 
of  his  healthy  young  lungs,  "What  say  you? 
Such  insolence!  The  switch  shall  teach  you." 
And  leaning  far  over  her,  he  vigorously  chastised 
the  water  with  his  bejuco — a  guava  switch. 

The  realism  in  Pacifico 's  voice  and  manner, 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  3 

rather  than  the  resounding  smack  of  the  stick 
upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  suggested  to  Emil- 
iana's  imagination  many  tales  of  Senor  Maestro' s 
art  in  applying  the  genuine  bejuco  to  suffering 
child-flesh;  she  cowered  appropriately,  and  silent- 
ly thanked  the  custom  of  the  Philippines  which 
eliminated  the  education  of  girls. 

With  the  pretended  punishment  thoroughly  and 
satisfactorily  completed,  Pacifico's  disappoint- 
ment over  Emiliana's  perversity  returned. 

"Why  will  you  do  so?"  he  mourned.  "Hard- 
head! How  shall  I  teach  you  what  to  do  when 
the  American  teacher  comes,  and  opens  the  School 
for  Girls?  Many  Holy  Days,  when  Maestro 
Gerardo  had  no  school  and  the  other  boys  played, 
I  have  worked  to  learn  the  beautiful  English. 
Would  you  be  ignorant  of  what  you  should 
know?'*  he  chided.  "And  many  times  you  also 
have  heard  the  Black  American  soldiers  sing  the 
song  when  they  walked  about  the  town  of  nights. 
We  shall  try  only  once  more.  I'll  be  'Teacher,' 
and  you  shall  be  '  Scholar. '  Now  sing,  Emiliana, 
sing  the  beautiful  English." 

The  prompt  obedience  of  the  penitent  little 
beauty  in  a  measure  restored  the  lad's  hope  for 
a  successful  game.  Nevertheless,  an  occasional 
smack  of  his  switch  upon  the  water  warned  Emili- 
ana against  any  relaxation  in  her  enthusiasm. 

Their  concentration  upon  their  make-believe, 
the  noise  of  their  mimicked  recitation,  deafened 
the  two  children  to  the  warning  cry,  "An  Ameri- 


4  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

can,  an  American,'*  raised  by  the  washer-women 
as  they  dropped  their  work  and  joined  in  a  clam- 
bering flight  up  the  pathway.  Nor  did  the  earnest 
little  students  note  the  excited  haste  with  which 
the  women  sought  in  scattered,  hidden  retreats  on 
the  bank  above  the  sole  security  from  the  white 
man's  expected  ridicule  of  their  scantily  arrayed, 
statuesque,  brown  beauty. 

An  amused  laugh  startled  the  two  children. 

Glancing  around  suddenly,  Pacifico  found  a  pair 
of  twinkling,  cynical,  blue  eyes  focused  upon  him. 
But  the  strong,  kindly  repose  of  the  American's 
thin,  tanned  features  belied  their  humorous  mock- 
ery and  won  confidence.  Boldly,  the  lad  stared  at 
the  unexpected  intruder. 

As  every  one  knows,  it  is  rude  to  stare.  Pacif- 
ico's  surrender  to  such  poor  manners  exacted  its 
own  penalty, — or  perhaps  the  swaying  canoe  was 
to  blame, — for  with  a  few  wild  waves  of  his  arms, 
a  spasmodic  tottering,  the  lad  flopped  awkwardly 
into  the  river, — a  disgraceful  procedure.  Back  in 
the  dug-out  again,  Pacifico  critically  studied  the 
American's  slouch  campaign-hat,  his  blue  shirt 
and  khaki  trousers,  his  leggings  and  army  boots, 
all  of  which  blended  into  an  harmonious  costume 
in  striking  contrast  to  the  conventional  Filipino 
attire, — or  lack  of  attire. 

Half  fearful,  yet  unafraid,  too  entranced  to 
treat  her  companion's  mishap  with  the  raillery  it 
deserved,  the  girl  crouched  in  the  boat  and  stared 
at  the  white  god. 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  5 

"Such  beautiful  eyes,  Pacifico!"  she  half- 
whispered,  half -exclaimed.  "Do  you  see  them? 
Azull  Blue  like  the  heavens!'* 

"And  he  has  a  mustache  and  beard  that  burn 
like  a  new  copper  coin!"  the  boy  pointed  out. 

"And  such  wonderful  hair!  Yellow  like  the 
bamboo,  and  it  shines  in  the  sun  like  the  flower 
of  the  Ylang-Ylang  tree!" 

Half -laughing  and  wholly  amused,  the  American 
interrupted  with  the  command,  " Si-cau,  a-bing 
nga  la-la-qui,  ma-ca-tao." 

Thoroughly  confused  by  the  white  man's  use 
of  her  native  dialect,  by  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  understood  their  comments,  the  girl  shrank 
behind  whatever  refuge  her  chum  afforded.  But 
Pacifico,  heedless  of  her  discomfiture,  shouted, 
"The  great  American,  El  Dangeroso!  Only  that 
friend  of  the  common  people  could  speak  in 
Ibanag,"  and  rushed  to  obey  the  white  man's 
summons,  "You,  lad,  come  here."  Once  ashore, 
Pacifico  stood  before  El  Dangeroso,  respectfully, 
as  one  could  stand  before  a  tried  and  trusted  pro- 
tector of  the  oppressed;  not  cringingly,  as  one 
must  stand  before  the  domineering  Black  Ameri- 
cans who  despise  all  Filipinos  and  have  no  pity 
for  the  lot  of  an  ignorante. 

"So  you  have  heard  of  me?"  the  white  man 
questioned. 

"Wen,  senor,"  the  lad  affirmed.  "It  is  our 
grand  fortune  to  have  El  Dangeroso  for  our 


6  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

American  Teacher.  And  it  is  my  privilege  to 
serve  you,  senor ?"  he  in  turn  enquired. 

* '  Sure,  lad.    And  your  name  ? ' ' 

"I  am  Pacifico,  son  of  Pio  Baliuag,  the  Ilocano, 
who  is  a  laborer  of  the  hills,  senor.  But  I  know 
much  beautiful  English,"  the  boy  proudly  added, 
by  way  of  claiming  a  distinction  that  might  com- 
pensate somewhat  for  his  lowly  caste. 

The  American  suppressed  a  smile. 

"So  I  heard,"  he  admitted.  "But  the  nigger 
in  the  'Forty-ninth'  who  taught  you  the  'beautiful 
English  *  of  that  song  could  have  done  better  by 
you.  You  don't  understand  what  I  mean,  lad. 
And  you  don't  understand  why  I'll  think  you  a 
find  if  your  industry  equals  your  enthusiasm. 
But  you  do  understand  how  to  hold  the  boat  along 
shore  while  the  boat-man  and  I  get  my  things  off. 
Let  me  see  you  do  it." 

"No,  no,  senor,"  Pacifico  protested,  catching 
the  American 's  sleeve  and  pointing  to  the  rapidly 
gathering  crowd  on  the  bank  high  above,  "you, 
the  illustrious  El  Dangeroso,  must  not  do  the 
work  of  an  ignorante,  where  all  the  people  can 
see.  It  is  not  the  'Custom  of  the  Country,'  "  he 
explained.  "And  soon  the  whole  town  will  be  at 
the  river,  for  the  washer-women  have  fled  from 
their  work  and  have  told  the  news,  'El  Dangeroso 
has  come.'  See,"  he  insisted,  tensing  his  lithe 
slight  muscles,  "I  am  strong,  and  I  can  help  the 
boat-man.  I  am  only  an  ignorante."  Pointing 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  7 

to  the  girl,  he  added,  "Emiliana  can  hold  the 
canoe." 

The  American  paused  and  studied  the  anxious, 
eager  face  lifted  up  to  his.  Then  he  smiled. 

"Your  permission,  senor?"  Pacifico  asked. 

The  white  man  nodded,  and  said,  "Sure,  sonny, 
have  it  your  own  way. ' ' 

Oblivious  of  the  crowd,  of  everything  but  the 
importance  of  preserving  the  dignity  of  his  new 
idol,  Pacifico  clapped  his  hands  in  the  most  ap- 
proved fashion  of  a  Eiver-Pilot,  and  lustily  yelled 
at  Emiliana,  "Hard  head,  you!  Don't  you  see 
that  you  must  hold  the  dug-out  while  I  help  the 
boat-man.  It  is  the  great  American,  crazy  one." 

And  like  a  good  woman,  Emiliana  hastened  to 
obey  the  command  of  the  master  sex. 

El  Dangeroso  leaned  against  his  pony,  and  pon- 
dered. The  lad's  anxiety  to  save  an  American 
from  public  ridicule  for  a  breach  of  that  custom- 
lore  which  decrees  that  labor  contaminates  the 
caste  of  a  PERSONAGE,  was  impressive.  It  com- 
mended the  boy.  Never  in  all  his  years  in  the 
Philippines,  though  he  was  far-famed  as  the 
friend  and  protector  of  the  oppressed,  had  Senor 
El  Dangeroso  seen  a  Filipino  voluntarily  assume 
such  a  task  in  such  an  unpopular  cause.  The 
lad's  action  suggested  the  advisability  of  employ- 
ing him. 

Pacifico  tugged  and  strained  in  anxious  rivalry 
with  the  experienced  boat-man,  and  quarreled 
most  valorously  for  the  distinction  of  dropping 


8  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

the  last  small  case  of  supplies  upon  the  sand. 
Then,  while  he  worked  the  kinks  out  of  his  arms, 
he  strutted  like  a  principals,  and  thundered  most 
impressively,  "Run  to  the  Tribunal,  Emiliana, 
and  notify  El  Sargento  de  Policia  that  the  pos- 
sessions of  the  American  Teacher,  the  great  El 
Dangeroso,  who  will  live  in  Tranquilino  Carag's 
wooden  house,  are  at  the  river-landing. ' '  To  the 
American,  he  explained,  "It  is  the  Custom  for 
the  Policia  to  send  a  carabao  and  cart  for  a  Public 
Official's  things." 

The  white  man  laughed. 

"And  so  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  learn 
custombre?"  he  questioned.  Catching  the  puz- 
zled, pained,  questioning  expression  in  the  lad's 
big,  dark  eyes,  and  in  his  manner  an  involuntary 
recoil  from  the  sting  of  what  to  a  Filipino  would 
seem  open  ridicule,  the  American  very  seriously 
declared,  "It  is  mighty  important  for  a  man  to 
learn  the  Custom  of  the  Country,"  and  asked, 
"Can  you  show  me  the  way  to  my  house?" 

As  the  white  man  followed  Pacifico  down  the 
lane  opened  through  the  crowd  at  the  lad's  lusty, 
important  command,  he  studied  the  people  cas- 
ually but  keenly.  In  the  mob  were  little,  bare- 
headed, tattered,  brown  folks  of  all  ages  from 
infancy  to  youth,  some  of  whom  wore  a  dirty 
shirt  and  some  a  dirty  skirt,  though  most  of  them 
were  innocent  of  any  clothing.  Black-haired,  un- 
kempt, small  heads  craned  forward  to  see,  and 
black  eyes,  in  restless,  half-frightened  awe,  looked 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  9 

up  from  besmudged  faces  at  the  white  god.  But 
among  them  all  there  was  none  whose  face  showed 
the  intelligence  and  initiative  of  the  boy  before 
him.  That  boy  pleased  the  American. 

When  Pacifico  had  tied  the  pony  to  the  bamboo 
rail-fence  before  the  house,  and  had  turned  to 
leave,  El  Dangeroso  stopped  him  with  the  ques- 
tion, "Do  you  want  to  be  my  servant,  my 
muchacho?" 

Ambitious  dreams  dazzled  the  lad's  imagina- 
tion, and  the  fathomless  brown  eyes  shone  with 
expectancy.  For  just  one  wild,  ecstatic  moment, 
he  danced  in  glee.  Then  memory  of  his  caste 
quelled  his  exuberance  as  quickly  as  it  had  been 
aroused.  And  though  a  hint  of  moisture  added 
a  brilliant  luster  to  those  dark  eyes  that  would 
smile  their  disappointment,  he  slowly  shook  his 
head. 

"The  Custom  of  the  Country,"  he  reminded  the 
man.  "Americans  are  like  Spaniards;  they  have 
gentlemen  for  their  servants.  Panfilo,  nephew 
of  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  and  a 
principals  boy,  who  wishes  to  learn  English,  ex- 
pects to  become  the  muchacho  of  the  new  Ameri- 
can Teacher.  It  is  the  Custom  of  the  Country, 
senor,"  he  once  more  explained  to  him  who  was 
so  ignorant  of  custombre. 

"Damn  custombre/'  El  Dangeroso  swore. 
"You  suit  me."  And  as  that  was  El  Dangeroso' s 
way,  the  matter  was  settled. 


10  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pacifico  spent  the  day  in  the  hardest  work  he 
had  ever  done ;  there  was  no  time  for  a  siesta,  no 
time  to  smoke,  no  time  for  gossip.  But  as  he 
kept  up  to  the  pace  which  the  strenuous  white  man 
set  for  him,  and  justified  the  American's  selec- 
tion of  a  muchacho,  Pacifico  was  elated.  Yet 
later  in  the  evening,  when  he  met  Emiliana  at 
the  watering-hole,  the  lad  suppressed  his  exulta- 
tion, and  that  he  might  revel  in  her  sympathy  with 
him  for  the  'much  work'  which  was  expected  of 
the  'muchacho  of  the  American  Teacher,'  en- 
larged upon  his  onerous  duties.  But  finally  his 
exuberance  would  not  be  denied,  and  he  spoke  of 
the  compensations. 

"I  shall  have  much  American  'chow-chow'  to 
eat,  and  I  shall  wear  clothes  like  the  American, 
and  learn  to  speak  English,"  he  boasted. 

Emiliana  saw  the  significance  of  such  facts. 
She  was  impressed. 

"Then  some  day  you  will  be  a  principale,  is  it 
not  so?  You  will  not  work,  is  it  not  so  ?  No?" 

"I  will  vote  when  I  can  speak  English,"  he 
agreed. 

"By-and-by  you  will  be  Senor  Pacifico,  and  I 
will  bow  to  you.  So,"  said  she,  sweeping  back 
imaginary  skirts. 

Despite  the  gaiety  of  her  manner,  there  was  a 
certain  sad  wistfulness  about  her  action,  a  some- 
thing that  surprised  her  playmate,  almost  startled 
him.  But  the  shadow  fled  when  the  boy  gravely 
replied,  "And  you  will  be  Senora  Emiliana,  be- 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  11 

canse  you  are  going  to  be  my  wife  when  we  get 

big." 

The  merry  laughter  lurking  in  her  dark  eyes 
answered  him,  and  swept  him  into  the  brighter 
mood  of  her  rapturous  proposal,  " Let's  make 
believe. ' ' 

While  they  watered  their  animals,  they  called 
each  other  "Senor"  and  "Senora,"  and  apolo- 
gized for  little  nothings  in  the  most  punctilious 
manner,  as  though  their  future  distinctions  had 
already  been  attained.  Homeward  bound  at 
last,  they  rode  the  same  somnambulant  carabao, 
shouted  at  it  and  thumped  its  great  sides  to  keep 
it  awake  and  moving.  But  at  her  home,  Emili- 
ana  remembered  their  ' make-believe '  again;  she 
dismounted  with  the  air  of  a  princess,  though  her 
castle  was  only  a  bamboo  shack. 

Although  Pacifico  contemptuously  designated 
the  incident,  " Nothing  but  a  girl's  game,"  it 
turned  his  thoughts  to  all  the  possibilities  that 
might  result  from  his  new  position.  Strange, 
fantastic  dreams  of  the  future  accompanied  the 
lad  on  the  remainder  of  his  homeward  ride. 

By  night-time  Pacifico  had  become  a  'Person- 
age' in  the  town.  All  the  people,  even  Senor 
Presidente  Don  Migual  Lasam,  came  to  his  home 
to  hear  his  tales  about  the  American's  toilet  arti- 
cles, and  medicines,  and  clothes,  but  above  all, 
about  the  'chow-chow.'  The  stories  aroused  the 
envy  of  Panfilo,  youngest  nephew  of  Senor  Lasam, 
who  had  regarded  service  with  the  American, — 


12  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

but  without  degrading  labor, — as  his  prerogative ; 
— and  that  principale  lad  implored  his  uncle  to 
secure  for  him  his  gentleman's  privilege.  The 
plea  resulted  in  an  official  order,  unpleasant  for 
Pacifico  but  calculated  to  prepare  the  way  for 
Panfilo 's  employment  by  the  white  teacher. 

Pacifico  followed  Senor  Presidente  and  Pan- 
filo  out  beneath  the  stars,  threw  himself  upon  the 
ground,  and  shed  a  few  disappointed  tears  over 
the  shattered  castle  of  expectations.  Fortunately, 
his  new  hopes  had  not  taken  a  firm  grip  on  his 
being;  the  lad's  own  skepticism  concerning  the 
continuation  of  his  luck,  in  spite  of  the  assurance 
that  had  come  from  the  American's  utter  disre- 
gard for  custowibre,  had  prevented  such  a  catas- 
trophe. A  little  while  of  grief  for  the  crumbled 
dreams  was  enough  to  reconcile  him  to  what  life 
had  taught  him  was  the  inevitable  outlook  for  a 
common  ignorante.  In  answer  to  the  accusation 
of  credulity  filed  against  him  by  his  own  experi- 
ence, he  offered  the  mental  defense,  "I  explained 
to  the  very  ignorant  American,"  while  memory 
of  the  day,  a  great  day  as  days  had  been,  was  a 
consolation. 

During  the  next  morning,  Panfilo  Calimag, 
Senor  Presidente  Lasam's  youngest  nephew, 
called  formally  upon  Senor  Maestro  Americano. 
Finding  the  white  man  out,  Panfilo  followed  the 
conventional  social  usage  between  equals,  and 
walked  in. 

An  hour  later,  Senor  El  Dangeroso  found  a 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  13 

gentleman,  a  young  gentleman,  a  young  Filipino 
gentleman,  standing  before  the  mirror  and  most 
intensely  interested  with  the  details  of  a  personal 
toilette.  Senor  El  Dangeroso's  comb,  hair-brush, 
shaving-soap,  razor,  tooth-brush,  tooth-wash,  nail- 
file,  all  had  suffered  from  the  young  gentleman's 
experiments.  As  evidence  of  their  service  in  per- 
fecting said  toilet,  the  odor  of  cocoanut-oil  clung 
to  them.  At  the  immediate  moment,  the  clothes- 
brush  was  cleaning  patches  of  mud  from  white 
canvas  slippers. 

Senor  El  Dangeroso  swore. 

Panfilo  dropped  the  brush.  But  his  confusion 
was  short-lived. 

"Buenas,  senor,"  said  he  in  greeting. 

"Well?"  Senor  El  Dangeroso  demanded. 

The  American's  cool,  sweeping  survey  of  white 
trousers  and  black  coat  led  Panfilo  to  shift  his 
weight  from  foot  to  foot. 

"I  have  come  to  be  your  muchacho,  senor,"  he 
informed  his  host. 

The  American  stared  at  the  confident  young 
man. 

"So?"  he  questioned.  "Pacifico  Baliuag  is 
my  muchacho." 

Pityingly,  Panfilo  glanced  at  the  unenlightened 
man. 

"My  uncle,  Senor  Don  Miguel  Lasam,  Presi- 
dente  of  Badi,  thinks  it  best  this  way ;  it  is  proper 
for  the  illustrious  American  to  have  a  principale 
servant,  senor,"  he  explained.  "I  am  a  princi- 


14  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

pale.  I  speak  Spanish,  and  will  translate  your 
wishes  to  the  people;  I  will  be  your  interpreter, 
senor. ' ' 

El  Dangeroso  dryly  smiled. 

"Pacifico  suits  me,"  he  replied  in  Spanish, 
"and  I  fear  that  that  settles  it.  You  see,  I  do  not 
need  an  interpreter." 

The  American's  facility  in  the  use  of  the 
language  disconcerted  Panfilo,  even  filled  him 
with  a  dubious  uncertainty.  But  the  lad's  habit- 
ual assurance  quickly  restored  his  poise. 

"Pardon,  senor!  It  seemed  best  to  my  uncle, 
Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam,  that  Pacifico 
stay  home,"  he  pointedly  suggested  in  correction 
of  any  misapprehension  that  might  still  delude  the 
inexperienced  American.  "But  perhaps  the  il- 
lustrious Senor  El  Dangeroso  will  wish  two  serv- 
ants, a  gentleman  companion  to  interpret  for  him 
and  a  laborer  to  work?  My  uncle,  Senor  Presi- 
dente Don  Miguel  Lasam,  will  arrange  it  for 
you. ' ' 

"With  the  matter  thus  apparently  settled  to  Pan- 
filo 's  satisfaction,  he  remembered  the  amenities 
required  by  * '  Custom, ' '  and  again  turned  toward 
the  make-shift  bureau.  Picking  up  the  largest 
photograph  on  the  transformed  box,  he  admired 
it, — with  long-drawn  breaths, — with  many  grunts 
of  approval, — with  many  a  muttered,  "Jesu!"  In- 
dicating the  subject  of  his  comment  with  the  uncut, 
twisted  nail  of  his  little  finger,  he  asked,  "Your 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  15 

concubine  in  the  United  States?"  and  gushed  a 
most  commendatory,  "Very  desirable!" 

The  American  was  ignorant  of  the  " Custom": 
he  misunderstood. 

Panfilo  dropped  the  picture,  hurriedly,  and 
tried  to  dodge  the  swooping  advance  of  the  angry 
white  man.  But  the  wiry  arms  gathered  in  their 
tight  embrace  all  the  ruffled  finery  of  the  of- 
fender's person,  twisting  fingers  twined  in  the 
cloth  of  the  lad's  immaculate,  black  coat-collar 
and  almost  strangled  the  wearer,  while  a  strong 
hand  gripped  the  proper  portion  of  the  white 
trousers.  A  jerky  heave  lifted  the  young  Filipino 
gentleman  into  the  air.  Another  propelled  him, 
feet  first,  out  through  a  convenient  window. 

Panfilo  landed  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  curious 
children,  and  sprawled  into  the  mud  of  a  carabao- 
wallow.  The  same  envious  youngsters  who  had 
followed  a  boastful  Panfilo  to  the  teacher's  home, 
and  should  have  formed  an  admiring  Guard  of 
Honor  after  his  triumph  in  displacing  the  upstart, 
Pacifico,  now  formed  a  taunting,  jeering  escort 
for  his  crest-fallen  retreat.  They  halted  only 
when  the  whimpering  principals  met  his  uncle, 
Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam.  Though  the 
crowd  of  sneering  children  scattered  in  fright  at 
sight  of  the  great  man,  Senor  Lasam  saw  the 
mockers,  and  surmised  that  Panfilo  had  suffered 
some  terrible  humiliation. 

Senor  Lasam 's  corpulency  shook  with  sup- 
pressed rage. 


16  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

But  when  Panfilo  explained ! 

''So!"  Senor  Lasam  puffed.  "Unh,"  he 
wheezed.  "So.  The  'Pig'  of  an  American  has 
given  an  ignorante  the  preference  over  my 
nephew !  And  publicly,  too !  But  he  shall  learn ! ' ' 
the  angry  man  stormed,  "that  'Pig'  of  an  Ameri- 
can!" Senor  Lasam 's  emotions  almost  choked 
him. 

"I  observed  every  courtesy,  even  to  admiring 
his  taste  in  choosing  a  'woman,'  "  Panfilo  sniffed 
in  concluding  the  tale  of  his  wrongs.  "It  must 
have  been  due  to  the  crazy  anger  that  afflicts  the 
American  'Pigs,'  "  he  suggested,  lest  his  uncle 
suspect  that  some  fault  of  his  had  brought  the 
disgrace  upon  him,  and  should  punish  him  for  the 
affront  thus  brought  upon  their  family  prestige. 

But  Senor  Lasam 's  wrathful  resentment  was 
far  beyond  the  point  where  he  cared  for  nice  dis- 
tinctions in  placing  the  responsibility.  There 
was  the  very  real  fact  of  the  insult. 

"Jesu,  Santa  Maria,  y  Josep!"  he  roared. 

The  mighty  man's  volcanic  anger  comforted 
Panfilo.  It  promised  him  security  from  personal 
punishment.  Yet,  since  past  experiences  had 
taught  him  the  fickleness  of  his  uncle's  more  tem- 
pestuous moods,  Panfilo  deemed  it  wise  to  direct 
Senor  Lasam 's  desire  for  vengeance  toward  some 
other  person  who  could  be  punished. 

"The  American  Pig  has  gone  for  Pacifico,"  the 
lad  added  by  way  of  an  apt  irritant  that  also 
might  bring  about  a  pleasing  retaliation. 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  17 

Senor  Lasam  spent  the  fury  of  his  rage  in  mut- 
tering many  and  varied  imprecations  upon  Paci- 
fico's  "hard-head."  But  presently  he  trudged 
belligerently  on  his  way  to  the  home  of  his  peon, 
Juan  Danga. 

Now,  mere  chance  had  decided  Senor  Lasam 
to  begin  on  this  particular  day  the  collection  of 
the  interest  due  upon  his  many  crop-mortgages. 
Likewise,  mere  chance  determined  it  that  Juan 
Danga,  father  of  Pacifico's  playmate,  Emiliana, 
should  b©  the  first  debtor  visited  after  Senor 
Lasam  had  heard  of  the  indignity  heaped  upon 
him  through  the  person  of  his  nephew. 

Fortunately  for  Juan  Danga,  he  had  the  money 
ready.  But  unfortunately,  Emiliana  happened 
to  enter  the  house  during  the  business  transaction. 
As  her  appearance  suggested  Pacifico,  Senor 
Lasam  scowled  at  her.  But  at  no  time,  not  even 
when  he  was  consciously  endeavoring  to  cow  an- 
other with  threatening  glares,  could  Senor  Lasam 
resist  the  appeal  of  feminine  beauty,  of  which  the 
girl  had  her  fair  share.  Senor  Lasam  was  im- 
pressed by  her,  so  impressed  in  fact  that  he  re- 
membered all  he  had  recently  heard  about  her 
many  attractions,  remembered,  too,  his  eldest 
concubine 's  importunities  that  he  present  this  girl 
to  Pedro  Tallud,  the  woman's  son, — as  a  gift. 
Thus  far,  Senor  President©  had  slightingly  ig- 
nored the  request.  But  his  present  mood,  the 
day's  unpleasant  events,  gave  that  request  a  new 
significance ;  it  could  be  made  the  means  of  retal- 


18  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

iation  upon  Pacifico.  Senor  Presidente  demanded 
her  for  Pedro's  mistress. 

Under  any  circumstance,  Juan  would  have  re- 
fused,— but  timorously.  As  he  had  just  paid  his 
immediate  debt,  Juan  refused,  positively,  and  in 
spite  of  all  of  Senor  Lasam's  threats,  though  the 
prospects  they  presented  made  Juan  tremble  and 
plead  for  pardon,  the  ignorante  father  persisted 
in  his  refusal. 

Incensed,  the  Master  promised  prompt  ven- 
geance. 

"Do  you  think  the  senility  of  second  childhood 
has  already  made  it  safe  for  an  ignorante  to  defy 
my  power  in  my  own  town?"  he  sneered,  as  he 
turned  away  from  the  door.  "So?  So?  You 
would  pile  your  insult  upon  top  of  the  American 
'Pig's/  would  you?  Jesu!  But  you  shall  quick- 
ly learn. ' ' 

Juan  licked  his  lips,  but  his  head  shook  a  final 
refusal. 

That  night  the  Municipality's  Gray  Pony  died 
of  the  "Pest."  Somehow,  the  carcass  was  de- 
posited in  Juan 's  yard,  where  a  Municipal  Police- 
man found  it  next  morning.  Juan  was  arrested 
and  brought  before  Senor  Lasam. 

As  Juan  could  give  no  explanation,  and  only  be- 
came more  and  more  terrified  at  Senor  Lasam's 
sneering  demands  for  one,  Senor  Presidente  took 
the  matter  under  consideration.  He  pondered 
mightily  upon  the  case. 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  19 

"Juan  must  have  stolen  it ;  he  must  have  ridden 
it  to  death,'*  he  finally  decided.  And  when  the 
ignorante  protested  his  innocence  and  begged  for 
mercy,  Senor  Lasam's  eyes  reproached  the  cul- 
prit. "My  heart  is  very  sad,"  Senor  Presidente 
assured  Juan.  "I  feel  keenly  the  disgrace  of 
having  such  an  unworthy  debtor."  Further  pro- 
tests received  but  a  judicious  shake  of  the  head, 
and  the  sentence,  "Pedro  Tallud  will  administer 
fifty  lashes  to-morrow  afternoon." 

When  the  people  heard  of  the  incident,  they 
laughed,  and  shrugged  their  shoulders. 

"Ten  lashes  will  win  Juan's  consent  to  any- 
thing. Another  five,  and  he  will  beg  Senor  Presi- 
dente to  accept  as  a  gift  whatever  Pedro  wants. 
At  least,  Pedro  is  a  master  with  the  lash,  and  we 
shall  have  a  great  spectacle,"  summarized  their 
gossip. 

Next  morning,  Pacifico  wandered  aimlessly 
about  his  employer's  house,  mechanically  per- 
forming his  chores,  or  repeating  the  motions  con- 
nected with  them  for  the  sake  of  the  relief  to  be 
found  in  action  without  thought.  He  did  not  cry 
over  the  things  which  his  Filipino  reason  told 
him  were  Inevitable  Fate;  his  hot  eyes  burned 
away  his  tears,  while  strange,  gripping  bonds 
about  his  throat  stifled  his  moans.  In  the  early 
afternoon,  he  rolled  his  head  in  a  blanket  and 
hid  himself  in  his  room,  lest  Juan's  shrieks  of 
pain  should  drive  him  mad  with  the  knowledge  of 
the  price  the  tortured  father  might  pay  for  re- 


20  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

lease.  But  when  that  terrible  cry,  a  great  agon- 
ized scream,  flooded  the  silence,  it  pierced  through 
the  deadening  weight  of  the  cloth,  and  reached  the 
lad's  ears,  undulled. 

El  D anger os o  sprang  from  a  chair,  which  clat- 
tered on  the  floor  and  seemed  to  echo  and  reecho 
the  agonized  cry.  He  shook  the  lad,  as  though 
to  awaken  him,  and  pulled  the  blanket  from  the 
head  of  him  who  seemed  asleep.  Very  quietly, 
the  man  asked,  "What  was  that!" 

Pacifico  told  him. 

El  Dangeroso  drew  his  terrible  "boom-boom," 
and  picked  up  his  bejuco,  the  whip  with  the  heart 
of  steel  and  the  crossed,  deer-thong  binding.  He 
spoke  but  the  one  word,  "Come." 

Together  they  raced  for  the  plaza,  where  El 
Dangeroso  plowed  his  way  through  the  mob  and 
sprang  upon  the  bamboo  band-stand  before  any 
one  realized  that  he  was  near. 

He  was  very  cool;  so  very,  very  cool. 

"This  is  a  little  mistake,"  he  drawled  in  the 
Ibanag  dialect.  "You  have  forgotten  that  I  am 
El  Dangeroso,  he  that  flogs  bad  presidentes. " 

Senor  Lasam  quailed  before  the  American's 
wrathful  sneer. 

"It  is  the  Law,"  he  quavered. 

Senor  El  Dangeroso  laughed,  the  harsh  laugh 
of  righteous  anger  well  controlled.  Then  he  un- 
bound Juan  and  handed  the  laborer  his  own  per- 
fect bejuco. 


A  LITTLE  MISTAKE  21 

"The  LAW?"  he  questioned.  "This  is  the 
LAW,"  he  answered. 

A  trip  dropped  Senor  Lasam  on  his  porcinine 
belly,  while  a  twist  of  the  wrist  sprawled  Pedro 
Tallud  beside  his  master.  The  "boom-boom"  en- 
forced submission.  At  Juan's  head  the  terrible 
weapon  compelled  that  ignorante  to  inflict  upon 
both  Pedro  Tallud  and  Senor  Presidente  Don 
Miguel  Lasam  five  lashes,  the  number  of  the  sen- 
tence which  Juan  had  endured. 

After  the  punishment  had  been  duly  and 
properly  administered,  El  Dangeroso  turned  to 
the  assemblage,  which  had  watched,  in  terrified 
silence,  the  utter,  public  humiliation  of  their  Ty- 
rant. Senor  El  Dangeroso  disapproved  of  such 
serious  countenances;  they  accused  him  of  spoil- 
ing the  day's  amusement.  He  stepped  back  be- 
hind Senor  Lasam.  Not  to  disappoint  the  popu- 
lace, which  had  gathered  to  view  a  "spectacle" 
and  to  laugh,  Senor  El  Dangeroso  snapped  his 
whip  in  the  neighborhood  of  Senor  Presidente 's 
most  sensitive  feet. 

So  Senor  Presidente  danced  and  grunted,  and 
danced  and  puffed,  and  danced  again,  until  every- 
body was  happy  and  tired. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PEBSONAGE 

THE  manner  in  which  Senor  El  Dangeroso 
personally  introduced  himself  to  Senor 
Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam,  before  even  the 
barest  amenities  of  good  social  usage  had  been 
observed  between  them,  provided  the  people  of 
Badi  with  a  sensational  topic  for  gossip, — when 
Senor  Presidente's  friends  were  not  present. 
And  the  tale  was  whispered  from  end  to  end  of 
the  North  Provinces,  whispered  with  many  a 
"hish"  and  "sh,"  lest  Senor  Lasam  seek  venge- 
ance upon  the  tale-bearer  for  thus  heaping  ridicule 
upon  so  illustrious  a  man.  Though  less  drastic 
than  the  public  floggings  formerly  meted  out  to 
principale  agitators  by  the  Spanish  Government, 
as  illustrations  of  the  danger  in  disloyalty  to 
Spain, — even  mild  by  comparison, — this  punish- 
ment was  stranger,  more  terrifying,  more  weird 
than  any  chastisement  ever  before  endured  by  a 
principale  of  Badi.  In  Spanish  times,  the  victims 
of  Spam's  retaliations  were  honored  for  their 
martyrdom.  But  such  defiance  of  "Custom"  as 
was  embodied  in  visiting  retribution  upon  a  prin- 
cipale for  an  injustice  done  to  an  ignorante  sur- 

22 


THE  DIGNITY  OP  A  PERSONAGE     23 

passed  anything  recounted  in  all  the  local  Myths 
of  Spanish  Times;  it  sentenced  Senor  Lasam  to 
sneers,  and  laughter,  and  ridicule, — unless— 
The  people  waited  patiently  for  a  vengeance  that 
should  square  the  account, — waiting  patiently, 
and  interestedly,  because  vengeance  concerned, 
not  them,  but  the  American,  and  Juan  Danga,  and 
Pacifico. 

Pacifico  was  intensely  interested  in  all  the 
calamities  that  might  happen  as*  a  result  of  the 
episode,  but  he  was  not  patient  in  awaiting  the 
fulfillment  of  his  anticipations.  He  trembled 
through  one  whole  day  of  terrified  expectancy. 
Nor  was  his  terror  allayed  by  the  fact  that  the 
mode  of  Senor  Lasam 's  humiliation  confirmed 
even  the  wildest  rumors  of  Senor  El  Dangeroso's 
deeds  in  other  towns.  Suppose  that  the  white 
man's  defense  of  ignorantes  had  always  met  with 
success  in  the  past.  What  guarantee  did  that  fact 
give  against  Senor  Lasam 's  certain,  ingenious 
vengeance  upon  El  Dangeroso,  upon  Emiliana, 
upon  the  lad's  own  small  person?  Perhaps  it 
meant  that  El  Da.igeroso  WAS  "The  Dangerous" 
even  to  the  mighty  Senor  Lasam.  But  what 
other  principale,  or  presidents,  could  be  so  terri- 
ble, so  sinister  in  the  method  of  his  retaliations, 
so  awful  in  his  anger,  as  Senor  Presidente  Don 
Miguel  Lasam  of  Badi! 

Pacifico  knew  Senor  Lasam.  Again  and  again, 
he  searched  his  employer's  face  for  some  sign  of 
a  tremor.  But  the  American  was  always  tran- 


24  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

quil,  as  unconcerned  over  the  retributions  that 
one  might  expect  to  follow  the  event  as  Pacifico 
would  have  been  had  Pacifico  suffered  and  danced 
in  place  of  Senor  Lasam  and  at  Senor  Lasam's  di- 
rections. 

When  a  second  nightfall  came  without  the  ex- 
pected having  happened,  Pacifico  was  both  puz- 
zled and  doubtful.  When  next  morning,  Panfilo 
brought  the  American  gift  of  chicken  and  eggs, 
with  the  compliments  of  his  uncle,  Pacifico 's 
doubts  were  dispelled.  Pacifico  could  understand 
such  gifts  under  such  circumstances; — to  the 
wise,  they  signified  anxiety  to  propitiate  him 
whose  power  was  dangerous  to  the  bad  of  heart. 
Such  weakness  was  contemptible.  Even  a  Paci- 
fico could  despise  the  Tyrant  of  Badi  for  such  a 
craven  exhibition  of  fear,  for  Pacifico,  while  the 
servant  of  the  American,  was  assured  of  his  own 
safety. 

With  the  terrifying  problem  so  promptly  and 
satisfactorily  settled,  Pacifico  turned  his  attention 
to  the  many  marvels  connected  with  his  new  sta- 
tion in  life.  By  a  reasonable  assumption,  numer- 
ous perquisites  belonged  to  the  position  of  "the 
muclwcho  of  the  Amercan  Teacher,"  among  which 
the  most  enticing  was  the  opportunity  for  testing 
and  trying  the  strange  contents  of  El  Danger oso  's 
box  cupboards — regular  mines  of  wonders.  A 
case  of  medicines,  magical  in  their  power  as  com- 
mon report  had  it,  especially  fascinated  Pacifico. 
Knowledge  of  their  stimulating  effect  gave  the 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     25 

Americans  their  physical  superiority  over  Fili- 
pinos, he  believed.  With  a  feeling  akin  to  awe, 
Pacifico  conducted  a  week-long  series  of  experi- 
ments, with  himself  and  the  pigs  as  subjects.  In 
a  measure,  the  results  disappointed  him;  the 
much  praised  drugs  produced  no  unusual  sensa- 
tion, nor  did  they  fill  him  with  the  new  and  vitally 
compelling  energy  of  an  American, — nor  did  more 
generous  doses  of  the  medicines  have  any  of  the 
expected  effects  on  the  pigs.  Pacifico  concluded 
that  the  unsatisfactory  results  arose  from  his 
failure  to  discover  the  right  charm. 

A  yellow  powder  from  a  can  with  a  gaudy  yel- 
low label  provided  the  material  for  Pacifico 's  final 
independent  investigation.  Believing  in  generous 
proportions  of  whatever  he  used,  Pacifico  mixed 
with  water  approximately  one  half  the  contents 
of  the  tin.  The  method  of  applying  the  paste  to 
the  chest  was  no  mystery  to  the  lad ;  he  had  seen 
El  Dangeroso  spread  it  on  a  cloth.  This  charm 
proved  noticeably  effective,  but  not  as  he  had  de- 
sired. Next  morning,  Pacifico  felt  indisposed. 
Although  there  was  a  certain  pleasure  in  being 
sick,  when  one  had  a  real  American  canvas-bed 
to  be  sick  in,  he  was  frightened.  In  his  appeal 
to  El  Dangeroso,  he  specifically  indicated  his  chest 
in  making  his  complaint. 

"I  have  great  pain  here,  senor,"  he  quavered. 

At  first  the  white  man  was  suspicious.  Much 
past  experience  during  the  period  of  his  full  faith 
in  Filipino  plaints,  had  taught  him  that  curiosity 


26  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

concerning  American  drugs,  and  particularly 
about  whisky, — was  generally  the  ailment  produc- 
tive of  the  " great  pain,"  for  otherwise  nothing 
less  than  a  modern  miracle  could  explain  the  in- 
stantaneous cures  effected  by  such  agents  as  salts, 
and  quinine  and  whisky.  El  Dangeroso  had  no 
objection  to  satisfying  the  curiosity  of  a  small 
boy  whose  faults  were  just  the  faults  of  children 
the  world  over,  provided  the  means  of  gratifying 
it  were  harmless,  but  he  preferred  to  grant  the 
boon  on  an  honest  understanding  that  would  not 
make  himself  appear  the  victim  of  guile.  He 
realized  that  he  must  carefully  guard  against  de- 
ceit in  any  form,  if  he  were  to  combat  successfully 
that  too  frequent  Filipino  fault. 

"I  suppose  you  really  mean  that  you  would  like 
to  try  the  medicines ?"  he  asked.  "I've  won- 
dered that  you  didn't  want  to." 

But  the  evident  sincerity  of  the  lad's  denial 
of  such  a  desire,  his  genuine  suffering,  convinced 
El  Dangeroso.  Investigation  of  the  designated 
portion  of  Pacifico's  anatomy  revealed  a  great 
blotch  of  blue  discoloration  extending  across  the 
sufferer's  whole  chest. — And  under  his  arms! — 

And  such  blotches  were  symptoms  of ?  The 

white  man  recoiled  from  the  sufferer. — The  bu- 
bonic plague !  The  Black  Death ! 

Chance  directed  his  eyes  toward  the  Mustard 
Can.  Its  half -closed  lid  stirred  another  suspicion. 
He  picked  it  up, — opened  it 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE      27 

"Not  that,  senor,  not  that  class  of  medicine," 
Pacifico  implored. 

"Not  this  time,"  El  Dangeroso  gasped  be- 
tween roars  of  laughter,  a  laughter  more  expres- 
sive of  his  relief  from  a  mental  strain  than  of 
merriment.  * '  But ' ' 

Pacifico  confessed  hurriedly,  yet  hesitantly; — • 
hesitantly,  because  he  knew  with  what  means  his 
father,  Pio,  would  have  punished  his  fault,  and 
hurriedly,  that  his  honesty  might  win  a  measure 
of  leniency.  The  hesitancy  was  further  war- 
ranted by  the  fact  that  Pacifico  had  seen  El  Dan- 
geroso sharpen  a  razor  on  a  broad  band  of  leather, 
which,  the  lad  imagined,  might  well  serve  the  pur- 
poses of  a  switch ;  and  the  hurry  by  the  fact  that 
much  depends  upon  the  earnestness  of  the  chas- 
tiser,  as  all  boys  know.  To  Pacifico 's  great  joy, 
he  received,  not  an  application  of  razor-strop,  but 
a  glorious  promise,  one  that  comforted  him 
through  his  illness  and  overshadowed  his  fears 
for  the  welfare  of  the  pigs,  the  permission  to  try 
freely  anything  he  could  find  in  the  shack,  after 
asking  his  employer's  consent. 

Although  Pacifico  religiously  observed  the 
single  restriction,  he  took  complete  advantage  of 
El  Dangeroso1 's  kindness,  and  therefore  rapidly 
became  '  *  an  Authority  on  Things  American. ' '  He 
found  that  the  element  of  experience,  that  the 
simple  words,  "I  have  tried  it,"  were  a  "Magic" 
which  increased  both  the  envy  and  the  deferential 
attitude  of  his  friends  and  of  the  many  curious 


28  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

townsmen  who  questioned  him.  In  fact,  people 
very  shortly  began  to  treat  him  like  a  "Person- 
age." 

Final  realization  of  that  fact  presented  new 
problems.  First  in  importance  was  the  difficulty 
of  determining  whether  or  not  he  was  a  "Per- 
sonage," as  he  suspected.  Then  the  distinction 
of  being  a  "Personage"  entails  the  duty  of  sus- 
taining the  part,  and  certain  observances  in  the 
manner  of  appearing  in  public.  As  every  one 
knows,  clothes  that  would  become  a  young  "Per- 
sonage," like  Panfilo,  would  seem  ridiculous  on 
a  youngster  like — well? — of  Pacifico's  former 
caste.  Pacifico  knew  that  an  appearance  in  pub- 
lic in  the  garb  of  a  "  Personage ' '  would  settle  all 
doubts  concerning  his  status.  He  might  have  de- 
ferred the  adoption  of  a  new  street  attire  until 
the  promised  American  outfit  arrived  from 
Manila.  But  that  would  have  meant  delay  in  test- 
ing his  belief, — and  he  was  impatient  to  know, — 
and  the  materials  were  at  hand. 

Certainly,  the  "blue  shirt"  which  El  Danger oso 
had  that  morning  thrown  into  the  wash  pile,  would 
make  an  appropriate  substitute  for  the  calico  shirt 
of  daily  wear.  Nor  would  it  be  wanted  imme- 
diately. A  pair  of  heavy,  brown  army  shoes,  res- 
cued from  the  rubbish  fire  and  securely  hidden 
under  the  house,  were  leather  shoes, — and  could 
be  worn, — though  they  might  prove  less  comfort- 
able than  bare  feet.  For  trousers,  and  white 
trousers  at  that,  there  was  the  pair  which  El 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     29 

Dangeroso  had  tossed  to  his  servant  on  their  first 
day  together,  with  the  remark,  "You  had  better 
wear  these  around  the  house,  boy,  until  that 
American  outfit  comes  from  Manila.  They  will 
be  a  bit  roomy  for  you,  and  if  you  don't  want  to 
wear  them  outside  of  the  house,  you  don't  need 
to.  But  should  American  visitors  come,  I  can't 
have  you  running  around  here  in  that  pant-less 
dignity." 

Pacifico  surveyed  those  trousers.  True,  they 
were  somewhat  baggy, — even  big,  though  El  Dan- 
geroso was  a  small  man  for  an  American, — and 
it  was  difficult  to  keep  them  where  they  belonged 
on  his  person.  And  yet,  upon  mature  considera- 
tion, with  all  their  faults,  Pacifico  rather  approved 
of  those  pants.  The  prevalent  Filipino  styles  in 
pants  favored  a  certain  degree  of  bagginess— 
Panfilo's  were  the  latest  extreme  of  the  fashion. 
With  the  extra  length  of  bamboo  shoe-strings 
wound  about  his  ankles  and  restraining  the  lower 
extremities  of  the  trousers,  with  the  "blue  shirt" 
outside  and  safely  hiding  the  extreme  height  of 
the  waist-band,  with  his  ears  filling  out  the  sur- 
plus space  in  an  army  campaign-hat,  the  chance 
attire  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  despite  El  Dan- 
geroso's  slight  regard  for  the  trousers. 

Pacifico  paraded  the  length  of  the  main  road — 
right  in  the  middle  of  it — and  smoked  a  real,  fac- 
tory-made cigar  borrowed  from  El  Dangeroso's 
stock.  All  the  people  came  to  the  openings  in 
the  outer  walls  of  their  shacks,  and  deferen- 


30  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

tially  greeted  "the  muchacho  of  the  American 
Teacher."  Only  Panfilo  sneered, — and  his  slurs 
could  very  properly  be  credited  to  envy.  Emili- 
ana  frankly  admired  her  playmate's  new  glory. 
And  upon  Pacifico 's  return  to  the  house,  El 
Dangeroso  smiled  his  approval, — and  overlooked 
the  liberties  which  had  been  taken  with  his  shirt 
and  hat.  So  Pacifico  knew  that  "the  muchacho  of 
the  American  Teacher "  WAS  a  "Personage." 

For  a  full  half  hour,  he  enjoyed  his  pleasurable 
exaltation  to  the  utmost.  Nevertheless,  when  he 
had  divested  himself  of  his  finery,  he  sighed  in 
relief;  his  normal,  pant-less  estate  was  so  much 
more  comfortable. 

He  tossed  the  "blue  shirt"  back  upon  the  pile 
of  dirty  clothes.  That  pile  of  prospective  wash- 
ing was  suggestive.  It  reminded  Pacifico  of  a 
duty  of  "the  muchacho  of  the  American  Teacher," 
a  duty  which  scarcely  became  his  new  distinction. 
Slowly  a  frown  developed  on  his  face,  and  fixed 
itself  there.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  "Personage" 
washing  clothes? — at  the  river! — and  in  public! 
"Woman's  work!"  he  sneered  to  himself.  He 
had  no  objection  to  the  exertion  involved  in 
spreading  the  clothes  on  a  rock  and  flaying  them 
with,  the  flat  paddle,  nor  to  the  moist  discomfort 
of  squatting  in  the  river.  There  would  be  no 
novelty  in  such  incidentals  to  the  labor;  he  had 
often  washed  clothes  for  his  mother.  But  that 
had  been  when  he  was  simply,  "Pacifico,  son  of 
Pio  Baliuag,  who  was  nothing  but  a  laborer  of 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE      31 

the  Mils,  a  common  ignorcmte."  With  a  " Per- 
sonage"— he  did  not  as  yet  say,  "Principale," 
even  in  thought — with  a  " Personage,"  it  was  dif- 
ferent;— Panfilo  never  washed  clothes  in  the 
river; — and  a  "Personage,"  like  "the  muchaclio 
of  the  American  Teacher,"  also  had  a  certain 
Dignity  to  maintain.  Washing  clothes — mere 
woman's  work! — lacked  every  element  of  Dignity. 
But  there  were  the  clothes !  And  wash-day  came 
on  Monday! 

Pacifico  pondered  long  over  the  situation,  but 
not  for  three  days  did  a  scheme  for  evading  the 
impending  duty  suggest  itself.  Then  it  came,  and 
in  this  wise. 

Playing  "house"  was  Emiliana's  favorite  di- 
version. She  always  wanted  to  play  "house," 
as  might  be  expected  of  a  woman.  Sometimes 
she  even  made  a  game  out  of  real  work!  So 
Pacifico  speculated.  Now,  with  real  clothes, 
American  clothes  for  the  "Senora"  of  the  game 
to  wash  in  the  real  river,  where  all  the  town 
washer-women  gathered  to  work,  Emiliana  cer- 
tainly ought  to  find  a  new  zest  in  the  "make- 
believe."  For  himself,  as  the  "Senor,"  Pacifico 
could  imagine  many  realistic  touches.  Another 
"store"  cigar! — El  Dangeroso  would  never  miss 
it.  Possibly  a  chew  of  buja! — the  Chino,  Ah  Sam, 
was  sometimes  generous.  And  squatted  among 
the  loungers  on  the  bank  above,  Pacifico  was  sure 
that  he  ;could  give  a  perfect  imitation  of  the 
critical  witticisms,  and  personalities,  and  jests  of 


32  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

the  men.  Emiliana  would  sustain  her  part  in 
retort  and  sally,  for  she  always  excelled  one's  ex- 
pectations. And  there  was  nothing  belittling  to 
her — a  woman — in  washing  clothes  in  the  river! 

But  sometimes  Emiliana  was  perverse.  There 
was  enough  of  uncertainty  in  the  prospect  to  pro- 
vide Pacifico  with  many  tantalizing  moments  in 
the  next  few  days. 

On  Monday  morning,  just  as  soon  as  Emiliana 
appeared,  Pacifico  drove  the  rest  of  the  loitering 
children  out  of  the  yard.  Such  a  marked  exhibi- 
tion of  his  preference  for  her  company  flattered 
Emiliana ;  undoubtedly,  he  had  some  new  wonder 
to  relate  that  would  be  their  secret. 

1 1  We  shall  play '  house,  '  "  he  proposed.  * '  Many 
things,  we  can " 

Emiliana  promptly  interrupted;  the  opportu- 
nities were  instantly  revealed  to  her  mind. 

"Muy  bien!"  she  exclaimed.  "That  far  win- 
dow of  the  maestro' s  house  shall  be  a  tienda,  an 
American  store, — in  the  United  States,"  she  en- 
thused, her  excitement  brooking  no  interruption 
from  him.  "And  the  porch  shall  be  the  street,  is 
it  not  sol  No?  And  we  will  walk  past,  and  see 
all  the  things,  and  you — we  shall  play  that  you 
have  been  in  the  United  States — you  will  tell  me 
about  the  wonderful  things  and  buy  me  something, 
is  it  not  so  f  And — and, ' ' — she  paused  for  breath, 
— "come.  We  shall  begin." 

Since  Emiliana  scampered  up  the  stairs  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  there  was  no  alternative  but 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     33 

to  follow  her.  She  leaned  over  the  window-sill, 
and  gazed  in  rapt  fascination  at  the  profusion  of 
wondrous  American  foods — meats  and  vegetables 
and  fruits  in  tins,  like  guava  jelly, — at  the  stacked 
cans  of  salmon  and  sardines.  Emiliana  had  seen 
salmon,  red  like  the  blossoms  of  the  Fire-tree,  she 
had  even  sniffed  its  savory  odor.  But  she  had 
never  tasted  it.  A  wistful  desire,  a  little  envy 
of  her  playmate's  good  fortune,  added  a  brilliancy 
to  the  luster  of  her  fathomless,  dark  eyes.  She 
faced  the  uneasy  lad  at  her  side. 

"Tell  me  about  them,  about  everything,"  she 
commanded. 

Pacifico  did,  his  imagination  supplying  a  wealth 
of  detail  concerning  whatever  articles  he  had  as 
yet  had  no  experience  with. 

'  *  Soon  you  shall  taste  them  all, ' '  he  promised ; 
"each  day  I  shall  save  for  you  some  of  mine." 

For  just  an  instant,  Emiliana 's  eyes  thanked 
Pacifico.  Then  those  sparkling  eyes,  sweeping 
back  to  the  fascinating  wonders,  lighted  upon  a 
cupboard  box  containing  three  green  lumps,  each 
one  an  exact  duplicate  of  the  other. 

Emiliana  pointed  them  out. 

"I  wish  to  hear  about  those,"  she  demanded. 

Pacifico  hesitated.  He  knew  Emiliana,  and 
Emiliana  was  no  fool;  should  the  idea  occur  to 
her,  she  would  appreciate  the  facility  with  which 
he,  as  the  generous  "Senor"  of  the  game,  could 
"buy"  his  "Senora"  one  of  those  attractive  green 
things, — just  by  reaching  out  a  hand  and  appro- 


34  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

priating  one, — although  El  Dangeroso  was  in  the 
next  room  writing  a  letter.  In  truth,  as  Pacifico 
did  not  know  what  they  were  and  had  learned  to 
respect  the  surprising  and  occasionally  discon- 
certing properties  of  unknown  Things  American, 
he  preferred  not  to  see  them,  and  tried  to  propi- 
tiate her  with  information  about  more  familiar 
articles  safely  out  of  reach. 

Emiliana  definitely  specified  the  location  of  the 
attractions. 

"Like  the  cakes  of  chocolate  that  the  people 
buy  at  the  entrance  to  the  cock-pit,  only  green  of 
color,"  she  added,  for  a  final  descriptive  clue. 

Pacifico  was  disgusted  with  himself.  If  he  had 
only  found  those  green  things  at  some  previous 
time  and  had  asked  El  Dangeroso  about  them,  it 
would  not  now  be  necessary  to  reveal  his  gross 
ignorance,  to  admit  that  he  knew  nothing  about 
them.  But  the  word,  chocolate,  as  she  had  used 
it,  was  suggestive  of  an  explanation  that  might 
hide  his  shameful  ignorance, — and  at  the  same 
time  punish  her  for  thus  bringing  him  to  the 
brink  of  humiliation. 

"Oh,  the  ' dulce  Americana'!"  he  exclaimed, 
simulating  the  manner  of  sudden  enlightenment. 
"  'American  sweets'  have  a  far  more  delicious 
flavor  than  the  cakes  of  chocolate/'  he  informed 
her. 

Emiliana 's  covetous  eyes  glanced  excitedly  up 
into  the  lad's.  Then,  remembering  the  game 
which  made  it  Pacifico 's  duty  to  grant  her  re- 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     35 

quest,  she  assumed  toward  him  all  the  deference 
which  a  wife  should  pay  her  "lord  and  master.'* 

"Senor  Pacifico,  have  the  kindness  to  buy  for 
me  an  'American  sweet/  ''  she  requested. 

Pacifico  grunted  a  dubious,  "Unh." 

His  hesitancy  provoked  an  imperious  command. 

"Buy,  senor  or  I  go  for  play  with  Ardelardo," 
she  threatened. 

Usually,  Pacifico  would  have  promptly  suc- 
cumbed. But  in  the  present  case,  several  con- 
siderations deterred  him  from  an  immediate  sur- 
render. Unfortunately,  certain  frequently  re- 
peated boasts  regarding  the  liberties  granted  "the 
muchacho  of  the  American  Teacher"  by  El  Dan- 
geroso,  precluded  even  the  tender  of  the  best  ex- 
cuse for  a  refusal,  the  prospect  of  a  thrashing. 

El  Dangeroso  saved  the  situation.  He  moved, 
and  Emiliana  led  the  flight. 

But  the  solution  of  the  predicament  was  only 
deferred.  Emiliana  liked  "sweets,"  especially 
"American  sweets,"  and  nothing  but  that  green 
"American  sweet"  would  satisfy  her  or  persuade 
her  to  continue  the  game.  And  the  hour  for  be- 
ginning with  the  "woman's  work"  was  fast  ap- 
proaching. On  the  other  hand,  there  was  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  thrashing.  Pacifico  weighed  the 
two  alternatives.  Unquestionably,  razor-strop — 
a  band  of  leather  too  broad  to  hurt  much  though 
one  had  to  dance  convincingly  and  perform  many 
antics  to  satisfy  El  Dangeroso's  wrath  with  the 
disastrous  results, — razor-strop,  when  applied  in 


36  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

the  privacy  of  the  kitchen,  was  far  preferable  to 
the  humiliation  of  publicly  washing  clothes  in  the 
river.  Besides  even  when  Pacifico  had  ignored 
many  admonitions  on  the  ground  that  a  command 
not  preceded  by  a  flogging  was  unworthy  of  re- 
spect, and  El  Dangeroso  had  finally  added  the 
essential  part  of  a  real  order  worthy  of  obedience, 
the  American  hit  the  table  legs  at  least  as  often 
as  Pacifico 's  legs,  nor  did  he  seem  to  know  the 
difference  as  long  as  the  injunction  under  imme- 
diate discussion  received  proper  consideration 
thereafter. 

Pacifico  pilfered  a  green  "dulce  Americcma." 
There  was  no  denying  its  luscious  appearance, 
and     Pacifico     prepared     to     taste.    Emiliana 
stamped  her  foot. 

"Senor,"  she  reproved.  " First,  for  me." 
Pacifico  surrendered  the  confection  into  her 
eager  little  hands,  and  hovered  excitedly  about 
her,  while  she, — a  mischievous,  teasing,  anticipa- 
tory sparkle  in  her  eyes, — dallied  with  the  candy 
and  enjoyed  in  full  meature  her  gustatory  expec- 
tations. But  at  last,  the  small  lady  yielded  to 
his  urgent  entreaties,  yielded  to  her  own  desire. 
.  .  .  Very  daintily,  she  nibbled  at  the  "sweet," 
nibbled  that  the  enjoyment  might  be  prolonged. 

If  Pacifico 's  greedy  eyes  had  not  followed  the 
confection  in  her  hand  with  such  avidity,  he  might 
have  observed  the  slight  but  positive  expression 
of  disgust  that  spread  over  her  face.  He  took  a 
big  bite,  a  big,  big  bite; — and  twisted  his  face 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE      37 

awry, — and  spat  and  spat, — and  sputtered 
"  'Dulce  Americana'  tastes  very  much  like  soap." 

Indignation,  even  rage  at  the  insult  thus  heaped 
upon  her,  blinded  the  little  brown  beauty  to  the 
ludicrous  spectacle  of  Pacifico's  frothy  efforts  to 
dispose  of  the  bad  taste  in  his  mouth. 

"I  have  great  anger  with  you,"  she  stormed. 
4 'You  might  have  exposed  me  to  public  ridicule 
with  your  joke.  But  I  shall  tell  everybody  about 
you,"  she  promised,  unyielding  resentment  in  the 
snap  of  each  word. 

Though  Pacifico  begged, — as  best  he  could  with 
all  his  sputtering, — and  explained,  and  protested 
his  innocence,  though  he  confessed  his  utter,  ab- 
ject, shameful  ignorance,  though  he  described 
with  humiliating  particularity  the  details  of  the 
application  of  the  razor-strop  that  would  surely 
punish  him  for  his  fault,  Emiliana  remained  ob- 
durate. She  went  to  play  with  Ardelardo. 

Dejectedly,  Pacifico  watched  her  disappear. 
Even  her  loudly-voiced  comments  on  the  sin  of 
pilfering  soap  failed  to  arouse  him  from  his 
gloom,  to  incite  him  into  a  natural,  noisy,  belliger- 
ent exchange  of  threats  and  recriminations.  Pa- 
cifico's apparent  forbearance,  even  fortitude  in 
the  face  of  probable  disaster  in  the  form  of  un- 
dignified kitchen  antics  with  the  aid  of  the  razor- 
strop,  was  not  due  to  philosophical  speculation 
upon  the  unreasonable  whims  of  women,  but  to  the 
washing.  Such  an  indignity  to  impose  upon  a 
" Personage"!  Visions  of  it  grew  to  mountain- 


38  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

ous  proportions  that  darkened  his  whole  outlook 
npon  life. 

El  Dangeroso  called. 

Laboriously,  Pacifico  climbed  the  stairs,  and 
lagged  across  the  porch.  Only  then  did  he  give 
the  prospective  interview  with  the  razor-strop 
any  real  consideration. 

But  El  Dangeroso  was  in  an  extremely  agree- 
able frame  of  mind.  He  laughed  good-naturedly, 
helped  his  servant  tie  up  the  bundle  of  clothes, 
and  seemed  entirely  ignorant  of  the  disturbance 
that  Emiliana  had  raised.  Evidently,  he  had 
failed  to  hear  her  noisy  remarks  about  the  pil- 
fered soap. 

Pacifico  sighed  a  comfortable  relief,  and  went 
after  a  piece  of  sensible  soap,  a  long,  narrow 
piece  of  soap  that  was  in  such  form  as  soap  ought 
to  be  in. 

El  Dangeroso' s  voice  halted  him. 

"I  guess  you  had  better  use  the  soap  you  threw 
to  the  pigs,  kid,"  he  drawled,  "and  save  the 
washing  soap  for  another  time." 

Pacifico  fidgeted,  and  hung  his  head,  as  one  who 
expects  a  summons  to  the  kitchen  may  well  do. 

El  Dangeroso  smiled,  but  gave  his  words  a  tone 
that  ought  to  have  reassured  the  culprit. 

" Might  as  well,  kid,"  he  continued.  "Medi- 
cated soap  is  pretty  expensive  for  washing,  but 
there  is  no  use  in  wasting  it.  And  if  the  pigs  ate 
it,  like  they  did  some  of  the  medicines,  it  wouldn't 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE      39 

be  good  for  them.  I  would  have  told  you  that,  if 
you  had  asked  me,  as  you  promised  you  would." 

Pacifico  wilted.  Intuitively,  he  suspected  the 
American  of  a  subtle  reasoning  that  did  not  ex- 
ist. The  same  hint  at  Pacifico 's  previous  esca- 
pades, if  made  by  a  principale, — like  Panfilo, — 
would  have  meant  that  the  pigs  had  sense  enough 
to  know  what  was  good  for  them, — and  that 
Pacifico  didn't.  It  seemed  to  the  lad  that  the 
American  had  implied  that  most  insulting  of 
Filipino  sneers: — "Crazier  than  a  pig!" 

The  mental  refrain,  "Pig,  Pig,"  accompanied 
the  patter  of  his  bare  feet  on  the  ground.  The 
word  chimed  so  loudly  that  he  expected  to  hear 
it  among  the  volley  of  taunts  from  the  group  of 
children  with  whom  Emiliana  was  playing.  He 
shrank  into  the  smallest  compass  that  his  body 
would  allow,  and  scurried  past.  But  only  a 
chorused,  "Buenas,  Pacifico,'*  greeted  him.  And 
a  block  beyond,  SHE  overtook  him. 

"I  have  told  to  nobody — about  the — soap,"  she 
panted, — "and  I  did  not  hear  you  howl  like  you 
said  you  would,"  she  blurted  out. 

Pacifico  dropped  his  bundle. 

"You  listened?"  he  asked,  suspiciously. 

As  she  nodded  an  assent,  Pacifico  knew  that  he 
had  been  forgiven,  and  that  Emiliana  was  sorry 
that  she  had  yelled  things  for  El  Dangeroso  to 
hear,  and  that  she  was  glad  he  had  not  been 
thrashed.  He  felt  better. 


40  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"What  have  you?"  she  asked,  eying  the  bun- 
dle. 

"The  American's  clothes." 

"And  if  I  go  to  the  river  with  you,  you  will  tell 
me  what  each  kind  is  for?"  she  asked. 

Startled  at  the  possibility  suggested  by  her  ex- 
citement, he  glanced  at  her.  She  was  intensely 
curious,  satisfactorily  curious!  But  how  far 
would  curiosity  plus  her  penitence  and  forgive- 
ness carry  her  toward  the  solution  that  Pacifico 
hopefully  anticipated  ? 

"Will  you  tell  me  about  them?"  she  persisted. 

Pacifico  believed  that  he  was  crafty, — and  un- 
concerned. 

"Possible.  Sometime,  when  we  play  house," 
he  suggested. 

Emiliana  laughed,  a  laugh  in  which  there  was 
more  of  delight  over  some  little  joke  of  her  own 
than  there  was  of  mere  amusement. 

"And  you  would  be  a  Senor  Americano,  and 
tell  your  Senora  Filipino,  for  what  each  garment 
was,  and  show  her  how  El  Americano  wears  his 
clothes?"  she  continued. 

Pacifico  hesitated.  Her  proposal  left  too  much 
to  implication.  Perhaps  Emiliana  would  expect 
the  Senor  Americano  to  do  a  "woman's  work." 
Americans  often  degraded  themselves  with  such 
labor;  El  Dangeroso  cooked — for  Pacifico  as  well 
as  himself! — and  Pacifico  had  told  Emiliana  so! 
Besides,  he  was  nettled  at  her  ridicule ;  there  was 
nothing  to  laugh  at. 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     41 

" While  the  Senora  washed?"  she  hinted. 

Pacifico  promptly,  vigorously  nodded  his  head, 
— and  forgave  her  for  her  previous  amusement. 

Emiliana  did  not  explain  to  herself  why  she 
had  offered,  on  her  own  initiative,  to  do  for  him 
his  distasteful  " woman's  work."  Nor  did  she 
try.  She  just  " understood"  his  predicament, 
because  she  was  Emiliana,  and  Pacifico  was  Paci- 
fico,— to  be  teased,  to  be  urged  into  scrapes  and 
aided  in  escaping  their  consequences,  to  be 
chummed  with,  and  when  real  need  arose,  to  be 
helped.  In  the  present  emergency,  she  blamed 
the  American,  his  ignorance  of  " Custom"; — she 
was  angry  at  him  for  imposing  a  disgraceful  duty 
upon  a  "Personage."  She  could  enjoy  thwarting 
LIs  will  as  much  as  she  had  enjoyed  teasing 
Pacifico. 

The  bundle  already  on  Emiliana 's  head,  the 
soap  in  her  hand,  convinced  Pacifico  of  her  serious 
intentions.  His  spirits,  therefore,  bounded  high. 
In  imagination,  he  saw  himself  very  much  the 
man  in  playing  the  conventional  part  of  a  man  on 
washday.  When  Emiliana  turned  off  on  a  cross 
lane  to  the  river,  he  surmised  that  she  had  plans 
of  her  own  not  in  harmony  with  his ;  he  objected. 

"The  Senora  should  carry  the  clothes  to  the 
regular  washing  place  where  all  the  women  of  the 
town  gather  to  do  their  work,"  he  reminded  her. 

Emiliana  promptly  dumped  the  bundle  on  the 
ground.  Ceremoniously,  she  bowed. 


42  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Pardon,  senor.  The  senora  of  an  American 
will  not  wash  clothes  in  a  public  place,"  she  de- 
clared. "And  never  have  you  seen  an  American 
senor  squatting  on  the  bank  among  the  ig or antes, 
or  joking  like  them?" 

She  was  obdurate  in  the  matter.  She  was  will- 
ing to  wash  clothes  in  a  secluded  spot,  but  abso- 
lutely refused  to  mingle  with  the  crowd  at  the 
generally  frequented  and  more  convenient  place. 
Though  Pacifico  would  have  preferred  the  pub- 
licity, he  was  unwilling  to  risk  the  loss  of  what 
he  had  gained.  He  accepted  her  modification. 

El  Dangeroso  waited  until  long  after  Pacifico 
should  have  returned  before  he  started  to  hunt  for 
his  muchacho.  Finally,  in  a  secluded  spot,  he 
came  upon  the  lad  and  his  companion.  What  the 
white  man  discovered  did  not  please  him. 

At  the  moment,  the  greater  portion  of  Pacifico 's 
anatomy  was  hidden  inside  of  El  Dangeroso's 
pajamas,  with  just  enough  of  the  lad  on  the  out- 
side for  purposes  of  discourse  and  for  gesticula- 
tion in  illustration  of  his  remarks  upon  the  social 
amenities  limiting  their  use  to  *  *  official  functions. ' ' 

It  was  a  satisfactory  explanation,  one  that 
might  reasonably  account  for  their  gay  colors, 
as  well  as  for  the  fact  that  Pacifico  had  never 
seen  his  employer  wear  them. 

"Yes,"  the  lad  replied  in  answer  to  an  inquiry, 
"Senor  El  Dangeroso  wore  this  kind  of  pants 
when  he  received  Senor  American  Provencial 
Treasurer  on  the  last  Official  Visit " 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     43 

Just  then,  Pacifico  gasped.  Some  monster, 
perhaps  a  crocodile,  had  clasped  his  squirming 
body  in  its  tight  embrace.  Pacifico  could  barely 
turn  his  head, — and  when  he  did  succeed  in  doing 
so,  his  startled  eyes  met  his  employer's  face,  a 
serious  face,  an  enigmatical  face,  and  therefore 
terrifying.  Pacifico  hurried  precipitately  down 
the  path  to  the  river's  edge.  El  Dangerojo's  firm 
grip  on  the  ''pants"  accounted  for  such  unseemly 
haste.  "Pants"  and  boy  squatted  vigorously, 
splashily,  in  the  water. 

"Right  here  we  are  going  to  have  a  lesson  in 
the  American  'Custom'  of  being  reliable,  and 
in  doing  what  is  our  work,  and  in  not  imposing 
on  a  girl,"  the  man  declared;  "and  I  hope  you 
will  be  a  sensible  kid,  so  that  we  wont  have  to 
make  a  googoo  lesson  out  of  it." 

The  speechless,  trance-like  expression  of  sur- 
prise on  the  culprit's  face  made  an  irresistible 
appeal  to  Emiliana's  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  Her 
merry  laughter  greeted  the  spectacle. 

Pacifico  heard.  Such  heartless  ridicule  of  his 
predicament,  and  from  his  accomplice,  stung  his 
sensitive  pride  even  more  than  had  either  the  in- 
dignity of  being  made  to  appear  foolish  before 
her,  or  the  humiliation  of  getting  caught  in  a 
fault.  He  forget  the  danger  in  tempting  the 
American  to  resort  to  such  a  punishment  as  his 
father,  Pio,  would  have  meted  out ; — he  defied  the 
mighty  El  Dangeroso; — he  refused  to  wash 
clothes. 


44  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

The  American  studied  the  lad  for  a  moment. 
He  thought  he  understood.  El  Dangeroso  sus- 
pected that,  in  persuading  Emiliana  to  wash  the 
clothes,  Pacifico  had  declared  such  work  beneath 
his  masculine  dignity,  and  would  not  recede  from 
his  declared  stand,  unless  provided  a  cause  by 
which  his  "face  might  be  saved."  But  El  Dan- 
geroso also  knew  the  lack  of  esteem  in  which  the 
Filipino  holds  the  Chinaman. 

' '  What  is  the  use  of  acting  like  a  Chinaman ! ' ' 
the  American  protested.  "You  know  you  are  go- 
ing to  wash  clothes,  even  if  you  make  me  use  a 
switch  so  that  you  will  have  an  excuse  for  backing 
down.  Better  get  busy,"  he  advised. 

Emiliana  thought  the  American  roared.  She 
knew  that  Pacifico 's  defiance  was  her  fault.  A 
very  earnest  little  girl  dared  to  grab  the  pony- 
switch  dangling  from  the  American's  wrist. 

"No,  no,  senor,"  she  pleaded.  "You  do  not 
understand.  I  have  the  fault,  senor.  The  insult. 
I  laughed  at  him,  senor.  And  senor,  the  mucha- 
cho  of  the  American  Teacher  is  a  principale.  It 
is  not  the  'Custom'  for  a  principale  to  degrade 
himself  with  'woman's  work.'  But  I," — she 
stepped  in  front  of  her  chum,  and  raised  beseech- 
ing, frightened,  brown  eyes  to  those  smiling  blue 
ones  which  could  understand  her,  even  admire  her 
without  repelling, — "but  I  am  a  woman,  senor, 
and  it  is  proper  for  me  to  do  a  woman's  work." 

She  waited. 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE      45 

El  Dangeroso  slipped  the  loop  from  his  wrist, 
stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  smiled  at  her. 
Emiliana  gripped  the  dreaded  bejuco  in  her  own 
hands, — and  sighed. 

What  might  have  happened  if  El  Dangeroso 
had  forced  the  issue  in  the  face  of  the  incipient 
rebellion,  especially  after  Emiliana  had  openly 
declared  her  alliance  with  the  insurgent,  only 
Pacifico  knows.  But  El  Dangeroso  was  wise  in 
knowledge  of  the  Filipino's  ways,  and  expected 
no  unreasonable  perfection  from  a  small  boy 
whose  ambition  and  virtues  far  outweighed  the 
shortcomings  which  environment  had  ingrained 
in  him  and  only  time  and  training  could  overcome. 
El  Dangeroso  had  not  forgotten  the  lad's  actions 
at  their  first  meeting,  his  anxiety  to  protect  an 
American  from  ridicule.  As  that  episode  sug- 
gested a  piece  of  guile  that  might  be  successful, 
El  Dangeroso  argued  the  matter. 

"It  is  a  bad  'Custom,'  and  I  don't  like  the  bad 
'Customs,'  "  he  declared.  "And  besides,  Paci- 
fico is  not  a  principale.  He  wont  be  a  principale 
until  he  can  vote,  and  the  American  Law  won't 
let  him  vote  until  he  can  speak  a  lot  of  English. 
Pacifico  must  learn  English  before  he  can  become 
a  principale." 

Such  reasoning  did  not  convince  Pacifico.  In 
some  ways,  the  American  was  a  very  ignorant 
man.  Pacifico  did  not  question  the  wisdom  of 
learning  English — he  meant  to  learn  the  language, 
— but  he  knew  the  symbols  of  a  "Personage";  the 


46  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

significance  of  the  public  reception  accorded  him 
upon  the  one  occasion  of  his  public  appearance  in 
the  garb  of  a  "Personage"  could  not  be  whiffed 
away  by  a  storm  of  words. 

"You  do  not  understand,  senor,"  Emiliana 
finally  asserted  in  an  effort  to  cover  Pacifico 's 
silence. 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?'  'El  Dangeroso  puzzled. 
"My  'Custom'  won't  let  me  have  a  girl  do  my 
washing  for  nothing,  and  my  servant  won't  do  it 
for  me."  He  sighed.  "I  guess  I'll  have  to  wash 
my  own  clothes  all  by  myself." 

In  the  face  of  that  possibility,  that  poser,  the 
picture  the  suggestion  conjured  before  his  eyes, 
Pacifico  fidgeted.  Still,  he  did  not  yield. 

El  Dangeroso  calmly  waded  into  the  water, — 
boots,  khaki  trousers,  and  all, — and  squatted  be- 
side the  clothes. 

Pacifico  squirmed  uncomfortably.  When  El 
Dangeroso  began  to  labor,  the  lad  objected. 

"No,  no,  senor,"  he  sputtered.  "Some  passer- 
by will  see,  and  spread  the  news,  and  the  people 
will  come  to  see." 

El  Dangeroso  ignored  the  protest. 

Undoubtedly,  he  was  awkward,  and  splashed 
much  water,  and  mussed  himself  unnecessarily. 
Undoubtedly  the  ludicrous  spectacle  he  made  of 
himself,  and  not  Pacifico 's  uneasiness,  was  the 
cause  of  what  Emiliana  did.  She  tittered. 

That  was  more  than  Pacifico  could  bear.  He 
turned  against  her. 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  A  PERSONAGE     47 

"Fool!"  he  snapped.  "Fool  of  a  woman! 
Would  you  ridicule  the  illustrious  American?" 

Then  he  set  to  work, — begged  El  Dangeroso  for 
the  privilege, — and  eagerly,  anxiously,  urged  the 
drenched  American  to  stand  close  under  the  bank 
before  any  people  gathered. 

El  Dangeroso  consented, — as  a  favor. 

And  when  the  crowd  did  come,  Emiliana  as- 
sumed an  attitude  of  absorbed  interest,  an  atti- 
tude which  clearly  announced  some  marvelous  at- 
traction in  the  method  by  which  Pacifico  washed 
clothes.  It  was  her  sneering  retort,  "Fool! 
Pacifico  washes  clothes  like  an  American,  with 
American  soap,"  that  silenced  Panfilo's  jeers. 

Finally,  the  last  garment  was  finished,  the 
bundle  tied. 

Pacifico  glanced  surreptitiously  from  Emiliana 
to  El  Dangeroso,  disgustedly  at  the  clothes. 
Then,  though  El  Dangeroso  had  sauntered  on- 
ward and  Emiliana  again  offered  her  services, 
Pacifico  lifted  the  burden  to  his  own  head  and 
marched  defiantly  homeward. 

Strange  to  relate,  Pacifico  found  that  the  inci- 
dent, despite  the  publicity  which  it  gained  from 
the  rumor  that  El  Dangeroso  had  illustrated 
American  methods  of  washing,  did  not  lessen  the 
deference  popularly  paid  him  as  a  "Personage" 
of  Badi.  Other  experiments  with  laborious  duties 
confirmed  the  suspicion  that  "the  miichacho  of  the 
American  Teacher,"  like  an  American,  was  ex- 
empt from  the  restrictions  of  Filipino  '  *  Customs, ' ' 


48  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

and  need  have  no  fear  for  the  security  of  his  dig- 
nity,— nor  worry  himself  with  schemes  for  evad- 
ing degrading  tasks.  In  his  ability  to  establish 
the  "Customs"  in  Badi  that  should  govern  what 
was  proper  for  "the  muchacho  of  the  American 
Teacher, ' '  since  he  was  the  first  to  have  that  dis- 
tinction, a  "Personage"  found  a  big  consolation. 
And  more,  obedience  would  make  it  possible  to 
learn  English,  and  to  become  a  BEAL  principale. 


CHAPTER  in 

PIGS  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 


rilEE  results  of  the  episode  more  than  de- 
ii  lighted  El  Dangeroso.  For  several  weeks 
his  little  servant  was  the  most  obedient,  docile 
boy  imaginable,  no  matter  how  objectionable, 
from  a  Filipino  standpoint,  the  task  assigned  him. 
The  American  felt  well-paid  for  his  patience  in 
combating  the  lad's  inherited  faults,  felt,  too,  that 
Pacifico's  changed  attitude  augured  a  successful 
development  of  his  protege's  evident  natural  ca- 
pacities. 

But  on  returning  late  one  afternoon  from  a  trip 
to  a  barrio,  El  Dangeroso  found  a  chicken  and 
some  eggs  at  the  door.  The  steps  were  not  the 
proper  place  for  chicken  and  eggs. 

"Well,"  said  he — talking  to  oneself  is  a  habit 
of  Americans  in  the  Philippines, — ''that  means 
the  kid  has  deserted  the  job  for  play,  I  suppose." 

Leaning  over  to  pick  up  the  provisions,  he  dis- 
covered Senor  Lasam's  card  tied  to  a  chicken  leg. 
El  Dangeroso  frowned.  He  knew  that,  friend- 
ship was  not  responsible  for  Senor  Lasam's  many 
recent  gifts  of  chicken  and  eggs.  Bather,  they 
indicated  Senor  Presidente  's  desire  to  propitiate, 


50  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

to  blind,  one  who  might  interfere  with  some  secret 
tyranny  in  Badi.  But  what  that  encroachment 
upon  the  rights  of  the  ignorantes  might  be  puz- 
zled El  Dangeroso.  Pondering  upon  the  possi- 
bilities, he  sauntered  into  the  kitchen. 

There,  he  found  Pacifico  sprawled  out  on  a  cot 
The  man  was  neither  frightened  nor  alarmed  by 
the  still  figure;  the  odor  in  the  room  explained 
the  trouble  with  the  lad.  El  Dangeroso  walked 
over  to  his  medicines  and  hunted  for  the  whisky. 
The  bottle  lacked  about  twice  as  much  of  being 
full  as  it  had  the  last  time  he  had  seen  it.  Half- 
seriously,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the  stupefied  lad, 
and  laughed. 

"You  little  rascal!"  he  drawled.  He  stuck  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  studied  the  unconscious 
culprit.  Then  the  other  side  of  the  argument 
presented  itself.  "But  I  don't  know,"  he  medi- 
tated. "You  are  the  only  googoo  I  ever  knew 
that  could  let  (bino  americano'  alone  for  two 
whole  months.  Must  have  been  fearfully  curious 
about  the  tales  you  have  heard  about  its  marvel- 
ous powers.  And  I  wouldn't  let  you  try  it; — I 
told  you  whisky  was  bad  for  you!  I  guess  you 
have  been  a  pretty  good  boy, — to  resist  tempta- 
tion for  all  of  the  two  months. ' '  He  thought  for 
a  moment.  "I  wonder?"  Then  he  opened  the 
quinine  box.  ' '  Oh,  that 's  it ! "  he  exclaimed,  when 
he  had  assured  himself  of  the  disappearance  of 
two  ten-grain  capsules.  "He  has  watched  me 
ever  since  I  told  him  the  'bino  americano'  would 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  51 

make  him  sick,  and  when  he  saw  me  take  a  malaria 
chaser  last  night,  without  anything  happening  to 
me,  skepticism  got  the  best  of  his  fears.  He  just 
had  to  try  it.'*  He  pondered  a  minute.  "Per- 
haps he  thought  the  quinine  was  the  antidote  for 
the  bad  effects."  El  Dangeroso  laughed  again. 
"Phew!  Twenty  grains!  But  won't  he  have 
some  music  in  his  little  ears !  I  guess  that  that 
will  be  enough  of  a  lesson, — if  I  make  him  see 
what  happens  to  curious  boys  when  they  don't 
do  what  they  are  told." 

Next  morning,  the  clatter  of  pots  and  pans  in- 
cidental to  the  preparation  of  breakfast,  awakened 
Pacifico.  Startled,  he  sat  up. 

"Jesu!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  already  time  to 
get  dinner,  is  it  not  so,  no?" 

"Your  reckoning  is  wrong,  sonny.  This  is 
breakfast." 

Pacifico  stared  blankly  at  his  employer.  Then 
he  listened,  intently,  very  intently. 

El  Dcmgeroso  grinned. 

"What's  the  matter,  kid?  Ah  Sam's  fiddle 
tuning  up  in  your  ear?" 

Involuntarily,  the  lad  stuck  a  finger  into  that 
organ  of  hearing.  There  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  his  ear.  Only  the  noise  seemed  louder.  He 
tried  the  other  ear,  with  the  same  result. 

1 '  A  very  strange  racket,  senor, ' '  he  faltered. 

El  Dangeroso  laughed. 

' '  Nothing  to  get  scared  about,  youngster.  It  is 
from  the  quinine,  and  will  stop  in  a  couple  of  days. 


52  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

But  how  does  your  head  feel?  Like  a  cock-fight 
was  going  on  inside  of  it?  You  know,  I  told  you 
to  let  that  'bino  americano'  alone." 

In  the  tone  of  the  last  assertion  was  just  enough 
of  sternness  to  suggest  that  possibly  El  Danger- 
oso  was  not  in  as  pleasant  a  mood  as  his  previous 
mirth  had  indicated.  Pacifico  was  often  uncer- 
tain of  the  best  way  to  contend  with  those  contra- 
dictory moods.  Moods  were  one  of  the  freakish 
characteristics  of  Americans,  like  their  fondness 
for  whisky.  Pacifico 's  mouth  puckered  at  that 
recollection.  At  least,  common  sense  dictated 
caution.  Pacifico  ignored  the  assertion. 

But  El  Dangeroso  meant  to  settle  the  matter 
while  the  physical  discomforts  of  the  lad's  esca- 
pade would  fully  corroborate  and  emphasize  the 
points  of  his  lecture.  He  placed  the  whisky-bot- 
tle on  the  table. 

Pacifico  was  interested.  He  noticed  that  the 
American  was  very  grave.  Such  seriousness  on 
the  part  of  Pio  would  have  augured  too  well  for 
the  probability  of  a  private,  active,  noisy  engage- 
ment with  the  razor-strop.  Pacifico  believed  in 
the  policy  of  avoiding  participation  in  such  en- 
counters. 

"The  mottled  pig,  senor,"  he  eagerly  explained. 
"This  morning" — he  hesitated,  and  corrected 
himself, — "yesterday  morning,  senor,  after  you 
had  gone  and  while  I  was  at  the  river,  the  mottled 
pig  came  into  the  house,  and  drank  some  of  the 
'bino  americano.'  But  I  got  back,  and  chased  it 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  53 

out,  and  put  the  bottle  up.  The  pig  was  very  sick, 
senor.  Oh,  so  dizzy,  it  felt!  The  pig " 

Pacifico  stopped  short,  and  stared  fearfully  at 
the  American.  El  Dangeroso  seemed  to  be 
strangling, — his  face  burned  crimson  like  the 
blossoms  of  the  Fire-Tree, — he  snorted  like  an 
angry  pony !  Before  a  mood  that  the  lad  believed 
to  be  the  strange  wrath  that  would  make  a  single 
American  forget  all  danger  and  charge  a  thou- 
sand armed  men,  Pacifico  cowered. 

El  Dangeroso  regained  his  self-control  without 
roaring  his  laughter  at  the  ingenuous  lie,  with- 
out betraying  his  amusement.  As  the  falsehood 
was  the  more  serious  of  the  two  offenses,  because 
a  greater  detriment  to  the  development  of  the 
capacities  of  a  small  Filipino,  it  required  drastic 
action ;  El  Dangeroso  assumed  an  attitude  severe 
enough  to  impress  upon  the  culprit  the  contemp- 
tuous nature  of  a  lie. 

"You  googoo,"  he  began,  with  what  seemed  to 
be  a  sneer. 

The  insulted  boy  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"No,  senor"  voiced  his  angry  denial.  "No 
googoo,"  he  pleadingly  protested.  He  squared 
his  shoulders  and  tapped  his  chest.  "Never  have 
I  fought  the  glorious  Americanos,  senor.  No 
googoo.  Filipino,  me." 

El  Dangeroso  stepped  back,  and  contemplative- 
ly studied  the  trembling  brown  boy.  He  nodded 
judiciously. 


54  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Yon  don't  look  like  a  googoo,"  he  conceded. 
"Perhaps  I  made  a  mistake.  But  you  can't  blame 
me  for  that  when  you  lie  like  a  googoo.  I  can't 
tell  that  you  are  not  a  googoo  when  you  act  like 
one."  He  tramped  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  just  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  debating 
some  problem  with  himself.  "But  why  don't  you 
act  like  an  American?"  he  asked.  "Then  I  could 
always  believe  you,  and  trust  you,  just  like  I 
would  a  little  American  boy.  And  I  would  know 
that  you  were  not  a  googoo." 

For  an  hour,  Pacifico  puzzled  over  the  sugges- 
tion in  El  Dangeroso's  words.  He  became  so 
interested  in  the  riddle  that  he  forgot  his  head- 
ache and  the  noise  in  his  ears.  If  acting  like  a 
googoo  made  a  googoo  out  of  a  Filipino,  what 
would  a  Filipino,  an  Ilocano,  be  if  he  acted  like 
an  American?.  Obviously,  the  answer  ought  to 
be,  an  American.  And  El  Dangeroso  had  said, 
"You  don't  look  like  a  googoo."  What  did  he 
look  like?  Pacifico  went  to  the  mirror.  A  very 
brown,  brown  small  boy  stared  anxiously  back  at 
him.  The  reflected  face  clouded  with  disappoint- 
ment. Evidently  that  brown  face  did  not  belong 
to  an  American,  for  Americans  are  white. 

Then  the  face  in  the  mirror  brightened.  There 
were  Black  Americans.  Pacifico  had  seen  them, 
he  had  known  them.  From  them  he  had  learned 
his  first  English.  True,  it  had  been  poor  English. 
But  still  there  were  Black  Americans.  And  per- 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  55 

haps  —  perhaps  —  Pacifico  scarcely  breathed  —  per- 
haps there  were  Brown  Americans. 

"Senor,  what  makes  Americans  out  of  Black 
Americans?"  he  asked. 

The  tableau  at  the  mirror,  which  El  Dangeroso 
had  observed,  the  question  itself,  a  sympathetic 
intuition,  all  combined  to  point  out  the  signifi- 
cance at  the  query.  Though  every  Southern 
sensibility  of  El  Dangeroso  's  being  rebelled  at  the 
slightest  implication  of  equality  between  the  de- 
spised race  and  his  own,  he  granted  the  conces- 
sion, for  the  sake  of  the  brown  boy's  best  welfare. 

"It  is  this  way,  sonny.  They  are  just  niggers, 
blacks,  except  when  they  act  like  Americans.  It 
is  the  way  they  act  that  makes  them  Black 
Americans,"  he  explained. 

Pacifico  interrupted  with  an  eager  question, 
and  held  his  breath. 

"Are  there  any  Brown  Americans,  senor,  any 
place  in  the  world?" 

Promptly,  positively,  came  the  answer,  "You 
bet  there  are,  kid.  Lots  of  them.  I've  seen  them. 


And  then  El  Dangeroso  floundered.  To  extem- 
porize instantaneously  a  satisfactory,  reasonable 
explanation  might  baffle  the  ingenuity  of  any  man. 

But  Pacifico  did  not  notice  the  instant  of  hesi- 
tation ;  he  was  enjoying  the  sensation  of  breathing 
once  more. 

"Color  doesn't  make  an  American;  it's  what  a 
man  does.  An  American  is  brave  in  battle,  and 


56  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

stands  by  Ms  friends;  he  doesn't  run  like  a  goo- 
goo,"  the  white  man  was  saying  when  Pacifico 
again  gathered  the  sense  of  the  words.  ' '  Googoos 
lie  and  steal.  Brown  Americans  don't." 

Pacifico  heard  the  statement,  heard  the  words 
of  the  amplification  that  followed.  But  the  les- 
son did  not  interest  him.  He  had  an  Ideal  to 
occupy  his  thoughts,  to  ponder  upon. 

Perhaps  the  reflection  in  the  mirror  looked  like 
a  Brown  American.  It  was  not  the  image  of  a 
googoo; — El  Dangeroso  had  admitted  that.  But 
how  could  a  brown  boy  prove  himself  a  Brown 
American,  when  there  was  no  war  in  which  he 
could  "be  brave  in  battle,"  no  troubles  nor  dis- 
asters in  which  he  could  ' '  stand  by  his  friends ' '  I 
Of  course,  a  boy  could  avoid  lies, — and  get 
thrashed  now  and  then, — since  it  was  essential 
to  being  a  Brown  American.  But  in  such  fool- 
ishness was  nothing  spectacular  enough  to  attract 
attention,  to  show  El  Dangeroso  that  Pacifico  was 
a  Brown  American. 

El  Dangeroso  called  Pacifico  into  the  kitchen. 

"Here  is  a  chicken  and  more  eggs,  plus  the 
compliments  of  Senor  Lasam,"  he  stated.  "I  am 
sure  there  is  something  up  in  this  town.  I  was 
just  wondering  if  you  could  tell  me  of  anything 
he  wouldn't  want  me  to  know  about." 

Pacifico  knew  of  many  unpleasant  facts.  The 
matter  of  the  House  Tax  had  bothered  him  great- 
ly. He  dug  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  real 
American  trousers.  The  metallic  hardness  of 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  57 

the  four  pesos  hidden  there,  those  most  essential 
pesos,  relieved  a  momentary  fear  that  they  were 
lost.  It  was  fortunate  that  El  Dangeroso's  ques- 
tion had  reminded  him  of  the  House  Tax.  But 
the  House  Tax,  and  such  burdens,  did  not  con- 
cern El  Dangeroso.  Pacifico  knew  of  nothing 
that  would  interest  the  American, — at  least 
nothing  of  general  interest, — and  so  declared. 

Of  course,  El  Dangeroso  would  have  been  highly 
interested  in  the  source  of  those  four,  big,  round, 
silver  pesos, — a  fortune  in  themselves.  But  that 
affair  concerned  only  Pacifico  and  El  Dangeroso, 
not  Senor  Lasam,  and  the  full  reckoning  in  the 
matter,  though  undoubtedly  unavoidable,  could 
well  be  postponed  until  some  future  time.  For 
the  present,  Pacifico  preferred  to  think  of  Brown 
Americans,  who  did  not  lie  nor  steal,  rather  than 
of  secret  loans.  Nevertheless,  the  method  in 
which  this  loan  had  been  made  worried  Pacifico, 
especially  since  El  Dangeroso's  remarks  on 
Brown  Americans.  For  a  moment,  Pacifico  was 
tempted  to  tell  El  Dangeroso  about  the  loan.  But 
the  urgency  of  the  House  Tax  counseled  caution. 

El  Dangeroso  paced  back  and  forth,  and  mut- 
tered to  himself. 

To  know  that  Senor  El  Dangeroso  worried  over 
what  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  might 
be  planning,  troubled  Pacifico.  It  filled  the  lad 
with  an  appalling  doubt. 

"Senor,  have  you  much  fear  of  Senor  Presi- 
dente?" he  faltered. 


58  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

El  Dangeroso  glanced  at  the  lad  and  smiled. 
He  surmised  that  the  lad  had  mistaken  his  habit 
of  thinking  aloud  for  a  sign  of  uneasiness. 

"None,"  he  stated.  "And  he  won't  hurt  you; 
he  is  too  afraid  of  me  to  try  any  tricks  on  me  or 
my  friends." 

As  that  was  true  logic,  good  logic,  logic  a  Fili- 
pino could  understand,  it  reassured  Pacifico. 

"He  is  just  making  too  many  gifts  to  suit  me," 
the  man  explained.  "I  know  he  is  up  to  some 
tyrannical  game  he  doesn't  want  me  to  know 
about,  and  I  can't  find  out  what  it  is.  But  one 
of  these  days  the  ignorantes  of  this  town  will 
know  me  better,  and  then  it  will  be  different; 
they '11  talk." 

Pacifico  wondered  about  that  House  Tax.  It 
was  a  tyrannical  burden.  But  as  the  American 
Government  had  inflicted  it  on  the  poor  Filipino, 
it  couldn't  be  called  Senor  Presidente's  "game." 
Nor  was  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  El  Danger- 
oso was  ignorant  of  any  American  Law  that  Senor 
Lasam  was  familiar  with.  So,  Pacifico  concluded, 
it  would  be  useless  to  trouble  the  American  with 
complaints  about  it. 

Pacifico  realized  that  he  must  devise  some 
scheme  to  get  those  four  pesos  to  his  father  be- 
fore the  last  minute  of  grace,  before  two  o'clock 
that  afternoon,  if  their  property  were  to  be  saved. 
But  the  great  truth,  "Brown  Americans  are  brave, 
and  stand  by  their  friends,  and  don 't  lie, ' '  proved 
a  refrain  which  constantly  interfered  with  plan- 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  59 

ning  to  get  permission  to  leave  for  the  day.  The 
injunction,  "And  don't  steal,"  persisted  in  tack- 
ing itself  on,  until  much  patient  repetition  re- 
placed the  three  words  which  Pacifioo  wished  to 
forget  for  the  present  with  the  clause,  "And  all 
Americans  speak  English."  Suppose  a  Filipino 
boy,  like  Pacifico,  suddenly  began  to  speak  Eng- 
lish !  What  reward  might  he  expect  from  a  gen- 
erous master  like  El  Dangeroso? 

But  El  Dangeroso  might  laugh  at  the  first  un- 
practiced  efforts  of  a  Brown  American.  In 
imagination,  Pacifico  could  hear  a  snicker  of  ridi- 
cule. He  shivered.  But  still,  El  Dangeroso 
might  not  suspect  that  his  servant  was  a  Brown 
American  until  "the  mucliacho  of  the  American 
Teacher"  always  spoke  English.  The  time  was 
propitious  for  a  trial;  El  Dangeroso  was  in  the 
other  room,  was  hidden  from  the  lad's  own  sight. 

"Zo  many  zings  I  haf  learned,"  Pacifico  es- 
sayed in  the  wonderful  but  terrible  English,  a 
speaking  knowledge  of  which  possessed  the  al- 
chemic power  of  bestowing  the  right  to  vote  and, 
even  more  unbelievable,  of  making  a  common 
ignorante  equal  to  a  principale.  Breathlessly, 
the  lad  awaited  the  dreaded  titter  of  amusement. 

El  Dangeroso,  a  smile  on  his  face,  swung 
through  the  door,  and,  his  arm  outstretched,  bore 
down  upon  his  servant. 

Pacifico  quailed. 

"Fine,  kid,  fine,"  the  American  encouraged. 
"I  knew  you  could  do  it  if  you  would  only  try. 


60  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Just  keep  it  up,  sonny,  and  you'll  win  that  forty 
pesos  for  me  from  Jenks  of  Mapia." 

The  man  ceased  thumping  approval  on  the 
brown  boy's  shoulders  just  long  enough  for  the 
lad  to  recover  his  breath,  just  in  time  for  the 
Filipino  to  control  his  tears.  Renewal  of  that 
manifestation  of  pleasure  called  forth  a  protest- 
ing, "Sir,  par-don,  sir,  zat  pains." 

Placing  his  hand  on  the  black  hair,  El  Danger- 
oso  tilted  the  earnest  but  dubious  face  up  until 
he  could  look  into  the  fathomless  dark  eyes.  His 
own  were  serious. 

"I'm  so  pleased  that  I'm  forgetting  myself," 
he  apologized,  "  because  I  know  you  can  speak 
English.  My,  kid,  if  you  let  Jenks'  block-head 
muchacho  beat  you,  now,  and  make  me  pay  up ! — 
you  see,  I  bet  Jenks  forty  pesos  that  my  kid  would 
speak  English  before  his  square-nut ; — if  you  lose 
out  now,  I'll — well — I'll  want  to  fan  the  broad 
portion  of  your  anatomy  to  a  fare-you-well. 
See?"  he  concluded,  shaking  the  lad's  hand  in 
congratulation. 

Pacifico  laughed  at  the  jocular  threat. 

"Zen  I  haf  for  to  go  hum  zis  day-e?"  he  re- 
quested. 

"Sure,  kid,"  El  Dangeroso  agreed,  "a  fellow 
who  has  learned  so  many  things  deserves  to  go 
home  for  a  visit.  And  you  can  take  a  can  of 
salmon  to  the  old  folks.  How  is  that?" 

For  particular  reasons  of  his  own,  Pacifico 
would  have  preferred  to  postpone  any  investiga- 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  61 

tion  of  the  salmon,  although  such  an  offer  ought 
to  have  delighted  his  Filipino  gustatory  prefer- 
ences. But  such  an  offer  under  the  present 
circumstances  precluded  a  refusal.  A  refusal 
would  have  aroused  suspicions.  However,  for 
those  same  reasons,  Pacifico  believed  that  it  would 
be  wise  to  propitiate  the  American  with  a  fur- 
ther use  of  English. 

"Eet  ees  wise  for  to  learn  many  zings,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"Smart  kid,"  the  American  laughed,  and 
walked  over  to  the  case  of  commissaries. 

He  stared  cynically  at  a  vacant  gap  in  the 
stock,  from  which  fully  a  dozen  cans  of  salmon 
had  disappeared.  His  eyes  measured  the  culprit. 

Pacifico  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  and  anxiously  awaited  the  storm.  The 
hand  in  his  trousers  pocket  clutched  the  four 
pesos. 

"Hunh,"  El  Danger o so  grunted.  "I  suppose 
the  mottled  pig  swiped  the  salmon,  too,"  he 
sarcastically  remarked.  "How  about  it?"  he 
snapped. 

Pacifico  surprised  his  employer;  he  promptly 
told  the  truth. 

"Yesterday,  your  unworthy  servant  sold  four 
pesos  worth  of  salmon  to  the  Chino,  Ah  Sam," 
he  confessed, — and  breathlessly  waited  for  El 
Dangeroso  to  recognize  in  him  a  Brown  American 
that  "did  not  lie  like  a  googoo." 


62  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Too  disgusted  with  this  new  lapse  to  realize  at 
once  the  significance  of  the  lad's  frank  declara- 
tion, El  Dangeroso  saw  in  it  nothing  but  a  con- 
firmation of  the  common  American  belief  that  no 
Filipino  could  be  trained  into  trustworthiness. 
The  master  disappointed  his  servant's  expecta- 
tion ;  he  did  not  hail  Pacifico  as  a  "  Brown  Ameri- 
can,"— he  merely  drawled,  "Why?" 

" Perhaps,"  thought  Pacifico,  "he  does  not 
understand  because  I  cannot  think  in  English, 
but  must  speak  Ibanag."  Aloud,  he  explained, 
"My  father  needs  four  pesos,  senor." 

As  El  Dangeroso  accepted  the  statement  for 
what  it  seemed  to  be,  a  poor  excuse,  there  was  no 
restraint  upon  the  severity  of  the  judgment  he 
passed.  Pacifico  needed  a  lasting  lesson,  and  one 
that  the  lad  would  respect. 

"You  googoo!"  he  sneered  in  conclusion,  "you 
common  little  googoo  thief!" 

Pacifico  hung  his  head,  and  two  big  tears  cut  a 
path  through  the  grime  on  his  sober  face. 

"Come,  what  have  you  got  to  say  for  your- 
self?" El  Dangeroso  impatiently  demanded,  but 
answered  his  question  without  giving  the  lad  a 
chance  to  reply.  "Nothing,"  he  asserted,  "there 
is  nothing  for  a  googoo  to  say  for  himself, — ex- 
cept that  he  IS  a  thief, — and  I  can't  make  him 
stop  stealing." 

Pacifico  raised  his  eyes  until  they  met  his  mas- 
ter's. It  seemed  to  the  lad  that  the  contemptu- 
ous anger  in  those  blue  eyes  lacked  the  harshness 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TEAIL  63 

implied  by  the  man's  words  and  manner,  that  they 
invited  confidence,  promised  mercy.  Then  he 
offered  his  defense. 

* '  My  father  is  a  little  old  man,  senor.  His  back 
is  round  and  his  hands  are  hard  from  the  years 
of  labor  in  the  fields.  There  are  many  bones  in 
his  body,  like  the  ribs  of  a  tired  pony,  senor,  and 
there  is  much  loose  skin  on  his  face.  Only  a  year 
ago,  he  paid  the  last  of  the  debt  on  his  land, — 
not  much  land,  senor,  just  a  few  hectares.  He 
must  have  ten  pesos  this  afternoon,  senor.  For 
five  months  my  family  has  eaten  the  roots  and 
herbs  and  fruits  of  the  jungle  and  river  and  field 
that  they  might  save  pesos.  Yesterday,  he 
lacked  four  pesos,  senor.  To-day,  he  must  have 
ten  pesons,  or  lose  his  land  to  whomever  can  pay 
his  House  Tax  to  the  American  Government,  and 
become  a  peon  again  in  his  old  age.  I  sold  the 
salmon  for  four  pesos,  senor." 

El  Dangeroso  suddenly  lost  all  interest  in  the 
moral  issues  involved  in  thievery.  Nor  did  he 
give  a  thought  to  the  erroneous  impressions  that 
might  be  left  in  his  servant's  mind  by  dropping 
the  present  difficulty  so  abruptly.  He  even  for- 
got to  inquire  about  the  final  disposition  of  the 
four  pesos.  But  he  exhibited  an  intense,  unusual, 
googoo-like  curiosity  about  that  House  Tax. 

In  answer  to  questions,  Pacifico  explained  in 
detail.  The  scheme  was  very  simple;  every 
ignorante  of  Badi  who  owned  a  shack  was  to  pay 
a  reputed  tax  of  ten  pesos,  or  forfeit  his  land. 


64  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

El  Dangeroso's  oaths  punctuated  the  story. 
But  this  increasing  wrath  reached  the  explosive 
point  when  he  understood  that  Senor  Lasam.  had 
credited  the  whole  nefarious  robbery  of  the  peo- 
ple to  "An  Act  of  the  American  Commission." 

"That  explains  the  gifts  of  chicken  and  eggs, 
kid!"  he  exclaimed.  "There  is  no  House  Tax; 
the  American  Government  abolished  it.  And 
when  it  comes  to  American  taxes,  the  Government 
doesn't  recognize  classes  of  people;  the  taxes  a 
man  pays  depends  on  what  he  owns.  Now,  you 
had  better  hustle  home  and  tell  your  father  to  keep 
his  pesos.  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  that  House 
Tax,  and  Senor  Porcininity  is  going  to  learn  how 
agreeable  I  am  when  I'm  in  my  best  humor." 

As  El  Dangeroso  and  his  bejuco  had  a  persua- 
sive way  about  them,  their  call  upon  Senor  Presi- 
dente  don  Miguel  Lasam,  despite  "Jesus"  and 
"mananas"  and  " padencias"  and  "poco  tiem- 
pos"  and  "Santa  Marias/'  was  not  prolonged. 
And  even  before  their  departure,  the  Tower-Crier 
started  upon  his  rounds  with  a  Summons  for  a 
Special  Town-meeting  on  the  next  afternoon. 

As  Pacifico  told  the  children  that  the  money 
paid  for  the  House  Tax  would  be  returned,  and 
as  the  children  repeated  the  wonderful  news  to 
their  skeptical  parents,  on  the  authority  of  "the 
muchacho  of  the  American  Teacher,"  a  large 
gathering  at  the  Town-meeting  was  assured. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  all  night,  Senor 
Lasam  moodily  brooded,  and  sulked,  in  his  shack. 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  65 

He  foresaw  the  ridicule  that  would  be  heaped 
upon  him.  The  bitterness  of  it!  To  be  sneered 
at  by  common  ignorantes!  And  the  teasing  and 
jeers  that  he  must  endure  from  his  associates  and 
equals!  The  contempt  with  which  his  advice  in 
conferences  would  be  flaunted!  It  goaded  him. 
He  keenly  felt  his  prospective  disgrace;  not  the 
disgrace  that  would  come  from  his  rascality,  but 
that  which  would  result  from  getting  caught  in  it 
like  a  novice.  His  chagrin,  and  disappointment 
over  the  loss  of  the  pesos  which  he  had  already 
come  to  look  upon  as  his,  doomed  his  negrito  slave 
to  a  merciless  flogging  under  his  own  personal 
supervision.  In  the  midst  of  it,  an  Inspiration 
checked  his  directions.  Even  yet  he  might  save 
appearances, — and  gain  something.  As  careful 
consideration  of  the  Inspired  Plan  revealed  no 
flaws  in  it,  his  colleagues  found  him  in  an  unex- 
pected, exultant  humor  by  noontime  of  the  meet- 
ing day. 

"The  'Pig*  of  an  American!  I  will  fool  him," 
he  boasted  to  his  eldest  nephew,  Guillermo,  while 
waddling  over  to  the  plaza. 

El  Dangeroso  realized  just  how  terrible  a  public 
exposure  would  seem  to  Senor  Lasam,  realized, 
too,  that  Senor  Presidente  would  make  some  ef- 
fort to  extricate  himself  from  the  predicament. 
El  Dangeroso's  presence  at  the  Town-meeting 
would  serve  as  a  satisfactory  restraint  against 
any  open,  audacious  scheme.  At  the  same  time, 
such  a  restraint  would  insure  some  secret,  more 


66  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

sinister  plan  that  would  be  harder  to  combat. 
Only  his  presence  without  Senor  Lasam's  knowl- 
edge would  offer  a  perfect  solution  of  the  dilem- 
ma. Following  several  most  casual  repetitions  of 
the  remark,  "I  think  I  will  make  a  quick  a  trip  to 
Mapia  to  see  Jenks,"  El  Dangeroso  sent  Pacifico 
home  for  a  second  visit  that  same  night, — and 
with  another  can  of  salmon. 

On  the  way,  Pacifico  exhibited  the  gift  to  all 
who  would  stop  for  a  chat,  and  boasted  of  it,  and 
of  his  knowledge  of  all  that  the  American  did, 
even  of  whom  the  white  man  visited,  citing  as  an 
example  of  his  intimacy  with  his  employer  this 
visit  to  Mapia.  And  that  news  also  spread,  and 
was  brought  to  Senor  Presidente. 

Early  in  the  morning,  El  Dangeroso  hid  himself 
within  the  enclosure  beneath  the  bamboo  band- 
stand, a  vantage  point  from  which  he  could  make 
sure  that  his  orders  were  obeyed  in  letter  and 
spirit. 

By  noontime,  the  ignorantes  had  gathered.  As 
befitted  a  public  occasion,  every  individual  unit 
of  the  motley  crowd  was  adorned  in  two  pieces 
of  clothing,  but  to  the  casual  observer  they  ap- 
peared just  an  indiscriminate  mass  of  bright- 
colored  trousers  and  shirts,  or  ca/misas  and  skirts, 
and  of  vacant,  brown  faces.  Hope  throbbed  in 
every  ignorante  heart.  And  every  ignorante  eye 
focused  anxiously,  expectantly  upon  the  bamboo 
band-stand  in  the  center  of  the  plaza,  where,  just 
a  silhouette  against  the  brick  cathedral  and  high 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  67 

above  the  common  mob,  should  appear  Senor 
Presidente,  that  majestic,  awesome  Fate  who 
must  confirm  either  the  surprising  Rumor  or  the 
Skepticism  which  Life  had  taught. 

Senor  Presidente  came. 

Porcinine,  squat,  and  sixty,  impressively  calm, 
he  stood  in  solitary,  unfamiliar,  white-clothed  dig- 
nity : — with  his  pudgy  fists  clasped  before  him ; — 
with  his  trousers  a  little  high,  and  with  his  snug, 
well-starched,  white  coat  clutching  his  shoulders 
backwards  into  the  semblance  of  a  military  poise, 
but  leaving  between  the  buttoms  in  front  several 
gaping  holes  through  which  peeked  a  few,  brown 
abdominal  rolls; — with  a  green  automobile  cap 
settled  well  forward  on  his  bullet  head  and  hang- 
ing in  precarious  security  upon  his  black,  oiled 
bristles ; — his  little,  brown  eyes  twinkling  humor- 
ously in  their  creases; — and  his  yellow  tusks 
munching  his  buja-nut  with  a  smacking  insistence, 
while  the  crimsoned  saliva  oozed  from  the  right 
corner  of  his  mouth,  trickled  down  his  chin,  and 
dripped  rhythmically  upon  a  receptive,  white 
sleeve. 

After  El  Sargento  and  the  other  members  of 
the  policia  had  herded  the  "cattle"  closer  to  the 
Center  of  their  Universe,  that  none  might  miss 
his  words  of  wisdom,  they  reported  that  Senor  El 
Dangeroso  was  not  present. 

When  the  proper  degree  of  quiet  had  been 
finally  attained,  Senor  Presidente  spat  his  chew 
of  buja  to  the  ground,  gulped  a  glass  of  water, 


68  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

noisily  rinsed  his  mouth,  sprayed  the  liquid  to 
the  care  of  the  South  Wind,  and  faced  his  people. 

'  *  My  children,  this  is  a  great  day, ' '  he  told  the 
assembled  ignov -antes,  "a  great  day  for  all  of  us. 
My  protest  against  the  House  Tax  has  led  the 
American  Government  to  abolish  it." 

Wild,  joyful  cheers  interrupted. 

"It  is  good  for  us  to  have  a  presidents  that 
guards  our  interests,'*  said  one  ignorante. 

"Senor  Lasam  must  be  very  powerful,  else  he 
could  not  have  influenced  the  American  Govern- 
ment. It  is  wise  for  us  to  belong  to  his  faction," 
said  another. 

"Senor  Lasam  is  a  true  friend  of  the  laborers," 
was  yet  a  third  verdict. 

El  Dangeroso  waited  for  no  more.  He  sprang 
out  to  the  rear  of  his  retreat,  vaulted  upon  the 
band-stand,  strode  over  to  Senor  Presidente, 
grabbed  a  flabby  arm,  whirled  His  Porcininity 
through  a  half-circle,  and  expressed  his  senti- 
ments to  the  surprised  rascal.  Then,  in  their  own 
tongue,  he  explained  the  truth. 

The  blank  astonishment  at  first  depicted  upon 
the  upturned  faces  of  the  people  faded  into  jeer- 
ing ridicule.  A  laugh  rippled  over  the  crowd, 
and  swelled  into  a  derisive  roar. 

"Liar  presidente!  Loco!"  the  ignorantes 
howled. 

Their  master  crept  nearer  the  edge  of  the  band- 
stand, glanced  searchingly  over  the  mob.  But 
when  the  American  looked  at  him,  he  turned  care- 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  69 

lessly  aside.  That  was  all.  But  imagination 
gave  words  to  the  threat,  memory  recalled  many 
cases  of  fulfilment.  A  cowed  silence  settled  upon 
the  culprits  who  huddled  together,  each  individual 
hoping  that  that  casual  survey  had  not  betrayed 
his  presence,  or  at  least,  had  not  detected  his  par- 
ticipation in  the  jeers. 

"So  I'm  going  to  the  Provincial  Capital  after 
the  American  Treasurer/'  El  Danger oso  con- 
cluded; "we'll  stop  this  deviltry." 

Then  he  dismissed  the  people  and  drove  them 
homeward  that  they  might  not  be  again  assembled 
during  his  absence. 

In  the  hatred  which  gleamed  from  Senor  Presi- 
dente's  beady  slits  of  eyes,  two  people  read  a  spe- 
cific message.  One  was  Pacifico,  the  other  was 
Pedro  Tallud. 

Pacifico  saw  the  Threat.  He  shuddered, — re- 
coiled. Pacifico  knew  the  history  and  legends  of 
Badi,  knew  from  the  tales  he  had  heard  on  Sun- 
day afternoons  at  the  cock-pit,  knew  from  what 
had  happened  in  his  time  and  he  had  seen.  There 
was  the  case  of  the  Chino,  Lee  Fong, — that  was 
the  latest; — of  Vicente  Pagulayan; — and  of  the 
querida,  Ana  Pajulan ; — and  of  the  Black  Ameri- 
can who  had  died  under  the  torture.  Pacifico 
trembled  for  El  Dangeroso.  In  imagination,  the 
lad  saw  his  master  enduring  that  awful  "mutila- 
tion process"  which  the  leaders  of  his  race  re- 
served for  such  of  their  unfortunate  conquerors 
as  might  fall  into  their  power.  An  impossibility? 


70  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

But  Senor  Lasam  was  in  league  with  the  wild, 
cruel  ladronnes,  the  robber  bands  of  the  Moun- 
tains. The  picture  terrified  the  boy,  yet  fasci- 
nated him.  He  could  see  the  contemptuous,  de- 
fiant set  of  the  white  man's  thin  lips,  the  scorn- 
ful blue  eyes.  That  is  the  way  El  Dangeroso 
would  meet  the  agony  of  the  knife,  until  he  died. 
Pacifico  knew  it.  And  that  triumphant  Spirit  of 
Americanism  won  his  admiration.  An  American 
always  met  his  fate 

There  was  a  break  in  the  trend  of  the  lad's 
thoughts.  Twice,  the  words,  "An  American  al- 
ways, ' '  repeated  themselves  without  continuing  to 
the  correct  conclusion.  And  then  he  remembered 
the  elusive  phraseology,  "An  American  always 
stands  by  his  friends,  and  is  brave,  and  never  lies 
or  steals."  Pacifico  trembled.  "Invite  Senor 
Lasam's  terrible  vengeance!"  he  questioned. 

But  the  Refrain  answered,  "A  Brown  Amer- 
ican is  brave." 

At  that  summons,  Pacifico  decided;  he  raced 
after  his  father,  for  Pio  was  an  old  man,  who  had 
seen  many  things,  and  was  wise  in  knowledge  of 
the  world's  sinister  dangers.  Prom  him,  a  Brown 
American,  a  LITTLE  Brown  American,  might 
learn  how  "to  stand  by  his  friends,"  when  insidi- 
ous schemes  are  afoot. 

Pedro  Tallud  knew  that  there  was  more  than 
hatred  in  Senor  Lasam's  glance;  Pedro  read  in  it 
a  signal  to  himself.  He  alone  of  all  Senor  Presi- 
dente's  henchmen  possessed  the  powers  of  stealth 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  71 

and  cruel  indifference  which  would  serve  this  one 
of  the  Master's  moods, — and  he  knew  the  signs  of 
that  mood.  Pedro  obeyed  the  summons,  and  fol- 
lowed his  reputed  father  to  the  Conference  of 
the  Town  Officials. 

Toward  night,  when  the  heat  of  the  day  had 
passed,  El  Dangeroso  set  out  on  the  long  hike  to 
the  Provincial  Capital.  All  unconscious  of  Pedro 
Tallud,  who,  with  keen-edged  war-bolo  in  hand, 
was  skulking  through  the  brush  less  than  twenty 
feet  away,  the  American  swung  along  the  Trail. 
Yet  El  Dangeroso  confessed  to  a  depressive  sense 
of  uneasiness,  a  feeling  that  all  was  not  as  it 
should  be.  He  disliked  the  sensation, — resented  it, 
as  one  resents  the  unfamiliar.  Nevertheless,  it 
impressed  him  sufficiently  to  keep  him  alert,  to 
keep  his  eyes  snapping  sharply  from  side  to  side, 
and  still  more  unusual,  to  keep  him  carrying  his 
gun  in  his  hand.  As  no  danger  threatened  him, 
he  knew,  there  was  nothing  to  cause  his  forebod- 
ing,— unless  it  came  from  the  knowledge  that  Lee 
Fong  had  so  recently  traveled  over  this  same 
Trail  to  his  assassination.  And  the  Chief  of 
Constabulary  suspected  Senor  Lasam  of  instigat- 
ing that  crime!  But  Lee  Fong  had  carried  a 
thousand  pesos,  a  sum  that  would  tempt  the  cu- 
pidity of  a  Senor  Lasam,  while  he,  El  Dangeroso, 
carried  nothing  but  his  gun, — and  possibly  Senor 
Lasam 's  eternal  animosity,  as  a  result  of  the 
day's  exposure.  He  laughed, — an  uneasy  laugh. 

The  discomfiture  which  he  had  inflicted  upon 


72  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Lasam  amused  him.  It  also  made  him 
thoughtful.  How  thoroughly  the  principales  had 
succeeded  in  intimidating  the  ignor antes!  And 
what  a  task  it  was  to  reach  the  common  people ! 
Their  persistent  refusal  to  give  information 
against  their  oppressors  disgusted  him.  He 
swore  at  them,  and  half  decided  to  turn  back,  to 
abandon  his  quixotic  interference  in  their  behalf. 
It  was  none  of  his  business,  anyhow,  and  they  had 
no  gratitude.  Then  he  remembered.  Three  cen- 
turies of  tyranny,  of  oppression,  of  intimidation ! 
So,  because  of  their  ignorance  and  helplessness, 
he  pardoned  their  faults  and  vices.  The  discom- 
forts, the  inconveniences,  the  dangers  to  which  he 
had  subjected  himself  in  protecting  the  poor,  sor- 
did, misguided  humans  were  worth  while ! 

The  roll  of  the  distant  thunder,  rumbling,  echo- 
ing, reechoing,  attracted  his  attention.  In  the 
west,  the  lightning  bit  into  the  earth,  and  the 
storm  clouds  streamed  over  the  heavens,  shutting 
out  the  stars.  He  quickened  his  pace.  Almost 
immediately  the  shower  caught  up  with  him,  en- 
veloped him  in  its  watery  sheets,  and  softened 
the  clay  of  the  Trail  into  a  gummy  mass  which 
sucked  at  and  held  his  heavily  shod  feet.  The 
" slush-slush-slush"  that  accompanied  his  re- 
tarded progress  did  not  increase  his  composure, — 
nor  did  the  occasional  cracking  of  a  twig, — nor  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves  of  the  shrubbery  around 
him. 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  73 

Just  before  that  point  where  the  brush  closes 
tightly  upon  the  Trail,  the  very  place  where  the 
assassin  had  ambushed  Lee  Fong,  El  Dangeroso 
halted,  and  waited  for  another  flash  of  lightning 
that  would  allow  him  to  peer  ahead  into  the  gloom 
of  the  tunnel-like  passage.  Beyond  that  stretch 
of  road  was  Pacifico's  home,  and  shelter  until  the 
storm  had  passed  and  the  moon  again  searched 
out  the  shadows  along  the  Trail. 

And  then,  while  El  Dangeroso  hesitated,  a  cau- 
tious voice  called  in  a  whisper,  "Senor!  This 
way,  senor,  for  the  Trail  is  impassable,  and  we 
must  go  around  it." 

El  Dangeroso  almost  jumped, — came  nearer  to 
jumping  than  he  ever  had  in  his  Army  Days,  al- 
though the  speaker  was  Pacifico.  The  man  was 
very  grateful  for  the  silent  lad's  expert  guidance 
around  the  jungle,  more  grateful  than  was  war- 
ranted by  mere  avoidence  of  the  physical  dis- 
comforts involved  in  plowing  his  way  through 
overhanging  brush.  And  never  was  shelter  more 
welcome  than  that  of  the  four,  bare,  interlaced 
bamboo  walls  and  grass  roof  of  the  shack,  nor  a 
light  brighter  than  that  of  the  wick  in  the  bowl 
of  oil. 

The  lord  of  the  house,  who  was  stretched  out 
on  the  bamboo  slat-floor,  sprang  to  his  feet, 
hitched  up  his  earthy  trousers,  the  only  covering 
for  his  thin,  wiry  frame,  and  kicked  out  of  the 
visitor's  way  the  chickens  and  fighting-cocks  that 
were  busily  pilfering  crumbs  from  the  remains 


74  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

of  the  afternoon  meal.  Ignoring  the  retaliatory 
pecks  at  his  bare,  brown  ankle,  as  well  as  the  noisy, 
protesting  clucks  and  crows,  Pio  shuffled  forward, 
and  bowed  and  scraped  before  the  ATnp.riV.fln 
Eager  to  serve,  he  helped  in  removing  his  guest's 
soggy  outer  garments,  and  after  the  custom  of  the 
country,  spread  them  on  the  floor  to  dry. 

In  the  meantime,  Pio's  woman  sat  in  the  corner 
of  the  shack,  and  waited,  all  prepared  with  her 
words  of  greeting  should  El  Dangeroso  deign  to 
notice  a  woman.  She  removed  from  her  mouth 
the  thick  tobacco-roll  through  which  she  breathed 
without  puffing,  and  brushed  back  her  long,  black 
hair.  Automatically,  her  fingers  still  sorted  the 
tobacco  leaves  while  her  nimble  toes  held  them 
until  the  bundle  of  one  hundred  was  completed. 

1 '  And  how  are  you,  senora  ? "  El  Dangeroso  in- 
quired. 

The  woman's  wrinkled  countenance  beamed. 
But  she  was  equal  to  the  distinction  conferred 
upon  her.  She  quickly  climbed  to  her  feet,  and 
kicked  the  pile  of  tobacco  leaves  into  the  corner 
behind  her,  where  they  would  be  out  of  the  way. 

"Very  well,  senor, — with  your  permission,"  she 
replied.  "Has  the  Senor  had  his  supper!" 

El  Dangeroso  smiled. 

1 '  I  haven 't  had  time, ' '  he  explained.  *  *  Besides , 
you  have  had  my  servant  to-day." 

"And  the  delicious  salmon,"  Pio  hastened  to 
add.  '  *  Many  thanks,  senor,  so  very  many  thanks. 
I  hope  you  will  visit  us  many  times,  senor." 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  75 

In  honor  of  the  occasion,  Pio  wrung  the  neck 
of  his  favorite  fighting-cock,  which  the  woman 
cleaned  and  cooked,  while  Pio  spent  the  interven- 
ing time  in  catechising  his  guest  upon  various 
matters  of  interest.  But  a  noisy  argument  be- 
tween Pacifico  and  his  mother  interfered  with  the 
examination.  The  disturbance  required  Pio's  at- 
tention. 

"Why  this  wrangling  of  women?'*  he  loftily  de- 
manded. 

11  The  insolent  infant!  Such  folly!  Such  fool- 
ishness! Such  useless  labor!  The  shame  such 
an  undutif ul  son  will  bring  to  my  old  age !  There 
is  so  much  necessary  work  on  the  tobacco!"  the 
old  woman  sputtered.  "Now,  he  thinks  he  is  a 
better  cook  than  his  mother!  He  says  I  must 
scrub  the  pan  before  I  fry  the  chicken  just  be- 
cause I  cooked  the  salmon  in  it!" 

"Fools!  Both  of  you!  Take  your  snarlings 
to  the  curs  and  out  of  the  presence  of  men.  Have 
you  no  manners?  Ask  the  American,  and  do  as 
he  wishes." 

Diplomatically  evading  the  issue,  El  Dangeroso 
suggested  that  Pacifico  do  whatever  work  he  pro- 
posed, a  suggestion  that  at  first  met  everybody's 
approval. 

"Why  waste  so  much  labor  on  pots  and  pans, 
when  only  food  has  been  cooked  in  them?"  Pio 
asked  in  his  search  for  information.  "Scrub- 
bing is  very  hard  work." 


76  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Where  sensitive  feelings  are  concerned,  the 
truth  is  sometimes  impolitic.  This,  El  Danger- 
oso  knew,  was  such  a  situation.  But  he  also  knew 
the  one  unanswerable  argument  that  a  Filipino 
will  accept  without  resentment,  an  argument  that 
will  win  his  assent  to  any  innovation,  for  hospi- 
tality's sake. 

"  'Custombre, — American  Custom,"  the  white 
man  explained. 

Out  of  respect  to  ' '  Custom, '  '  to  the  demands  of 
hospitality,  to  the  man  himself,  Pio's  woman  re- 
fused further  assistance  from  Pacifico,  and  her- 
self endured  "Much  useless  labor,"  and  scrubbed 
and  scrubbed  and  scrubbed. 

"Sometimes  a  woman  is  a  nuisance,  senor," 
Pio  apologized.  "But  perhaps  you  do  not  under- 
stand. Have  you  a  woman?" 

"My  wife  is  dead." 

"Was  she  an  Americana,  or  a  Filipina?" 

"An  American." 

"Perhaps  that  would  make  a  difference;  she 
had  a  white  skin.  But  are  the  Americans  white 
all  over,  senor?" 

"Yes-s." 

"And  are  American  women  white  all  over,  too; 
white  like  their  hands  and  faces?" 

"Yes-s-s." 

' '  And  the  American  babies  1  Are  they  as  white 
as  the  Spanish  babies?" 

"Whiter." 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  77 

"Jesu!  It  is  wonderful !  Senor,  are  the  Black 
Americans  equal  to  the  White  Americans  I ' ' 

"They  have  the  same  rights." 

That  puzzled  Pio.  How  could  a  colored  skin 
be  equal  to  the  White!  Pio  wished  that  he  were 
a  Black  American  instead  of  a  Filipino.  Though 
he  did  not  presume  to  covet  the  White  Skin,  he  did 
envy  the  Black  Americans.  But  since  God  had 
willed  it  as  it  was,  Pio  spent  no  time  in  vain 
regrets.  Perhaps  there  could  be  such  equality! 
Perhaps  all  that  Pacifico  had  said  was  true !  Per- 
haps even,  there  were  Brown  Americans!  Per- 
haps  ! 

Pio  pondered  in  silence. 

Before  they  squatted  down  to  eat,  Pio  went  out 
for  drinking  water; — and  discovered  a  Figure 
crouching  beside  the  shack,  and  listening.  Though 
its  war-bolo  reflected  the  gleam  of  a  ray  of  light 
that  stole  out  from  between  the  slats  of  the  bam- 
boo floor,  Pio  neither  called  to  It  nor  investigated 
It,  and  when  he  reentered  the  house,  he  said 
nothing.  But  Pio  was  silent  throughout  the  meal. 

Once,  the  American's  coat  moved  ever  so 
slightly.  Pio  snatched  it  away  quickly,  allowing 
the  light  that  filtered  through  the  slats  to  shine 
on  something  white?  The  American,  glancing 
down  just  then,  asked,  "Is  that  a  pig  under  the 
house?" 

Pio  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Possibly,"  he  answered.    "I  don't  know." 

"At  least,  it  is  not  yours?" 


78  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"No." 

"I  believe  I'll  put  a  shot  near  it,  just  to  see  it 
run,"  the  American  stated,  and  acting  on  the 
mischievous  impulse,  he  reached  for  his  gun. 

Simultaneously  with  Pio's  grunted,  affirmative, 
"Unh,"  an  extra  loud  clap  of  thunder  broke  the 
silence. 

The  American  laughed. 

"Well,  well!"  he  ejaculated.  "The  thunder 
scared  that  pig  just  as  thoroughly  as  a  genuine 
shot." 

He  laughed  again,  but  less  boisterously. 

'  *  If  there  is  one  thing  I  have  a  grudge  against, 
it  is  a  Filipino  hog,"  he  told  his  host. 

"Possibly,"  said  Pio.  That  was  all.  Yet  Pio 
knew  that  the  "pig"  had  but  two  legs;  Pio  knew 
it  was  Pedro  Tallud. 

After  the  meal  was  over,  and  the  guest  had 
smoked  his  cigar,  the  old  man  went  to  a  window — • 
just  an  opening  in  the  wall — and  called  El  Danger- 
oso  over  to  him.  He  flung  wide  the  shutter. 

"Look,  senor,"  he  invited,  pointing  to  the  sky 
in  which  there  were  no  stars.  "See,  senor,  it  is 
a  beautiful  night,  a  beautiful  night  to  travel. ' ' 

And  the  pouring  rain  purred  over  the  puddles 
on  the  ground. 

The  white  man  started  back,  scarcely  repress- 
ing an  exclamation  of  surprise  as  such  an  inhos- 
pitable hint  from  a  Filipino  and  a  friend.  It  was 
unheard  of;  it  was  an  insult.  Thoroughly  puz- 
zled, he  stared  at  Pio.  But  the  impassive  old 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  79 

man  was  interested  in  the  dense  blackness  of  the 
night.  El  Dangeroso  concluded  that  he  must 
have  misunderstood,  that  his  own  knowledge  of 
the  Ibanag  dialect  was  at  fault. 

"It  is  a  bad  night  to  travel,  a  wet  and  nasty 
night  to  travel,"  he  answered,  implying  in  his 
manner  that  his  host  had  merely  introduced  the 
subject  for  discussion. 

Pio's  vacant,  brown  face  belied  his  decisive 
speech. 

"No,  senor.  It  is  a  good  night  to  travel,"  he 
insisted.  "I  know.  See.  There  are  no  stars  to 
give  light,  and  the  waters  leave  no  trail  for  'PIGS' 
to  follow.  It  is  easy  to  burn  Pio's  house  when 
all  are  asleep.  And  there  are  many  'iPigs'  about. 
It  is  a  good  night  to  travel." 

El  Dangeroso' s  searching  eyes  met  only  the 
back  of  the  old  man's  head,  for  Pio  was  staring 
far,  far  out  into  the  night.  But  Pacifico  was  peer- 
ing intently  through  the  bamboo  slats  of  the  floor, 
while  Pio's  woman  banged  her  bowls  noisily;— 
"Pigs"  have  ears, — sometimes. 

The  American  dropped  to  his  knees.  He,  too, 
saw  the  pile  of  slit  bamboo  and  withered  grass. 
And  Pio's  house  was  dry,  very  dry,  like  tinder. 
Then  El  Dangeroso  understood. 

"Isn't  there  danger  for  him  who  drives  such 
a  'Pig'  from  the  trough?"  the  white  man  inquired. 
"What  will  a  'Pig'  do,  if  it  finds  no  fodder  when 
it  returns?" 


80  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pio  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had  counted 
the  rewards  a  servile  henchman  might  expect 
from  Senor  Lasam.  He  had  counted  every  ven- 
geance that  Senor  Presidente  might  inflict  upon 
him  for  his  temerity  in  warning  the  American, — 
had  counted  the  tortures  one  by  one, — should 
Pedro  Tallud  overhear, — and  understand, — the 
figurative  message ; — and  had  discounted  his  per- 
sonal danger  on  the  basis  that  Senor  Presidente 
would  fear  a  living  El  Dangeroso.  Again,  Pio 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Perhaps  the  thunder  scared  the  'Pigs,'  "  he 
meditated, ' '  or  perhaps  they  feared  the  Wrath  of 
the  'Wild  Boar.'  But  if  the  'Wild  Boar'  is 
snared,  the  thunder  will  not  scare  them  away 
again.  'Pigs'  will  run  only  if  the  'Wild  Boar' 
is  loose." 

The  American  understood  that  his  departure, 
though  it  seemed  to  withdraw  the  protection  of 
his  gun,  would  subject  Pio  to  no  personal  danger 
from  those  whose  enmity  the  old  man  might  have 
incurred, — unless  the  bad  of  heart  could  first  suc- 
ceed in  encompassing  El  Dangeroso' s  own  de- 
struction. The  white  man  sauntered  over  to  his 
damp  clothing,  and  put  it  on,  carefully  examining 
his  revolver  afterwards. 

"Yes,"  the  American  agreed,  "it  is  a  fine  night 
to  travel." 

Pio  had  not  finished. 

"There  are  many  'Pigs'  along  the  Trail  to  the 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  81 

Provincial  Capital,"  he  stated;  "Pio  heard  them 
grunting  while  we  ate." 

''And  are  there  'Pigs'  along  the  Trail  to 
Badi?" 

Pio's  negative  lacked  assertiveness.  His  at- 
tention was  centered  upon  a  squatty  bush,  a  new 
bush  not  far  from  his  shack.  In  the  darkness, 
its  outline  was  blurred. 

"Taking  an  occasional  shot  at  a  'Pig'  is  great 
sport,"  the  American  remarked.  "On  which 
Trail  will  I  find  the  best  shooting?" 

Pio  pondered. 

"Who  can  hunt  in  the  brush  by  night?"  he 
questioned.  "Take  the  other  Trail  to  Badi,"  he 
advised:  "it  passes  through  no  jungles  nor  under- 
growth, and  a  man  can  see  any  'Pigs'  that  run." 

"There  is  another  Trail?" 

"Yes,  senor, — "  the  old  man  began,  but  stopped 
short.  His  eyes,  better  than  his  guest 's,  had  dis- 
cerned a  "Pig."  But  the  "animal"  quickly  van- 
ished into  the  darkness; — and  the  squatty,  new 
bush  was  gone.  Then  Pio  continued,  "The  length 
of  a  hectare  east  of  the  Trail  along  which  you 
came,  is  a  clump  of  towering  bambo  with  a  mango 
tree  before  it.  Forty  paces  toward  the  river  from 
that  point,  you  will  find  a  Trail  that  affords  most 
excellent  shooting  by  night. ' ' 

El  Danger oso  raised  his  voice  that  all  "Pigs" 
might  hear.  "I  thank  you,  Pio.  I  thank  you 
for  your  hospitality,  but  especially,  I  thank  you 
for  your  pressing  invitation  to  spend  the  night 


82  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

with  you.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  accept,  but 
I  must  return  for  some  things  that  I  forgot." 

Pacifico  could  restrain  his  impatience  no  longer. 
He  touched  El  Danger oso  's  arm. 

"Senor,"  he  pleaded,  "we  are  Brown  Ameri- 
cans?" 

El  Dangeroso  understood. 

"That  is  what  you  look  like,  sonny,  and  that  is 
what  you  are,"  said  he; — "three  Brown  Ameri- 
cans." 

And  standing  in  the  light  of  the  open  window, 
where  all ' '  Pigs ' '  might  see,  he  shook  hands  with 
each  of  the  three  Brown  Americans.  Then  he 
plunged  into  the  night  and  the  rain. 

Pedro  Tallud  hurried  to  the  ambuscade  in  the 
brush  through  which  the  Main  Trail  passed,  and 
waited.  So  El  Dangeroso  found  no  "hunting" 
along  "the  most  excellent  Trail  back  to  Badi," 
though  he  spent  four  hours  of  time, — and  much 
loud  cursing, — in  wading  through  four  miles  of 
carabao-wallows  and  mud  and  slush  and  water, 
and  though  he  reached  his  house  in  Badi  only  just 
before  daylight. 

Shortly  after  sunrise,  Senor  El  Dangeroso 
found  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  in  the 
Tribunal. 

When  Senor  Lasam  saw  the  white  man  ap- 
proaching, he  sighed  his  relief.  He  had  passed 
the  night  in  a  gloomy  terror  of  what  might  hap- 
pen to  him  as  a  result  of  Pedro's  work.  Many 
times  in  those  awful  hours,  Senor  Presidente  had 


PIGS  ALONG  THE  TRAIL  83 

wished  that  he  could  find  Pedro,  that  he  could 
recall  the  command  to  destroy  the  American. 
The  punishment  that  he  could  expect  from  the 
American  Government,  should  the  crime  be  traced 
to  him,  loomed  more  and  more  terrifying  than 
could  be  any  petty  retribution  for  falsifying  the 
Land  Records  in  an  effort  to  rob  the  people.  As 
the  passing  hours,  and  the  efforts  of  his  colleagues 
among  the  town  officials,  brought  the  legal  docu- 
ments ever  nearer  to  readiness  for  an  Official 
Inspection  by  the  Senor  American  Provincial 
Treasurer,  thereby  removing  the  lesser  danger, 
Senor  Lasam's  fear  had  approached  a  state  of 
insanity.  With  the  appearance  of  the  hated 
American,  real  physical  evidence  of  Pedro's  fail- 
ure, came  a  reaction.  A  paroxysm  of  joy  fol- 
lowed that  momentary  palsy  which  could  express 
itself  only  with  a  sigh, — and  Senor  Presidente 
gushed  a  greeting  more  sincere  than  he  had  ever 
before  given  El  Dangeroso. 

But  the  call  was  short,  and  everything  that  hap- 
pened, or  was  said,  had  for  witnesses  and  re- 
porters the  local  Officials  of  Badi.  Afterwards, 
the  people  learned  that  Senor  Presidente  Don 
Miguel  Lasam  was  much  better  acquainted  with 
Senor  El  Dangeroso, — and  that  their  Chief  Offi- 
cial had  renewed  an  intimate  friendship  with 
Senor  El  Dangeroso' s  bejuco. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS 

FOLLOWING  the  episode  in  Pio's  shack,  El 
Dangeroso's  attitude  toward  Pacifico  changed. 
The  lad  ceased  to  mean  merely  a  good,  industrious 
servant,  and  became  a  protege.  In  El  Danger- 
oso's own  mind  there  was  a  big  difference.  No 
longer  were  Pacifico 's  escapades  regarded  as 
shortcomings,  as  faults  to  be  endured,  as  faults 
to  be  overlooked  only  because  they  were  inherent 
to  his  race  and  because  he  personally  was  such  an 
unusually  industrious,  ambitious  Filipino.  Esca- 
pades were  now  treated  as  manifestations  of  those 
mischievous  proclivities  common  to  all  healthy 
boys,  or  as  predicaments  arising  from  a  laudable 
ambition  to  solve  mysteries. 

The  new  attitude  was  well  illustrated  by  an  in- 
cident during  a  visit  of  Jenks,  the  Teacher  of 
Mapia.  In  honor  of  the  occasion,  El  Dangeroso 
opened  a  can  of  peaches,  of  which  he  had  but  two. 
Pacifico  had  never  before  seen  peaches.  But 
peaches  proved  delicious.  After  he  had  treated 
Emiliana  to  a  dish  of  the  wonderful  American 
fruit,  and  had  himself  returned  for  numerous 
tastes,  there  were  but  a  few  straggling  pieces 

84 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS  85 

left  in  the  bottom  of  the  two-quart  tin.  To  get 
the  most  enjoyment  possible  out  of  a  bad  situa- 
tion, for  which  there  would  certainly  be  a  reckon- 
ing, he  ate  the  remainder  of  the  fruit.  The  ex- 
pected thrashing  did  not  materialize.  Instead, 
Pacifico  found  the  empty  can  at  his  plate.  Such 
an  advertisement  was  bad  enough.  But  with  the 
placard  it  bore,  announcing  in  big  printed  letters, 
''All  that  the  mottled  pig  left,"  Pacifico 's  public 
shame  was  almost  unendurable ;  he  squirmed  and 
fidgeted  through  the  whole  meal. 

The  punishment  did  not  satisfy  Jenks  '  sense  of 
the  fitting. 

"Why  don't  you  whale  the  lesson  into  the  little 
devil!"  he  finally  blurted  out.  "You  bet  my  goo- 
goo  knows  better !  What  is  the  matter  with  you, 
anyway!  You  didn't  used  to  be  so  easy." 

El  Danger oso's  retort  was  mild. 

"Did  YOU  ever  swipe  a  pie,  or  jelly,  or  cake 
that  your  mother  was  saving  up  for  company?" 
he  asked. 

Jenks  sneered. 

* '  You  can't  treat  a  googoo  that  way.  A  googoo 
is  disappointed  in  you  if  you  don't  lambaste  him 
when  he  knows  it  is  coming  to  him.  He  despises 
you  for  your  weakness." 

El  Dangeroso  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"My  kid  is  not  a  googoo,"  he  remarked.  "He 
gets  fanned  only  when  there  is  no  other  way  of 
making  him  see  the  point." 


86  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Nevertheless,  the  new  attitude  did  not  grant 
Pacifico  any  license.  If  anything,  he  was  held 
to  a  stricter  accountability.  But  the  motive  was 
to  control  him,  to  guide  him,  to  develop  the  best 
there  was  in  him,  not  merely  to  discipline  him, 
not  just  to  make  him  a  reliable  servant.  Pacifico 
did  not  perceive  the  change  in  El  Dangeroso. 
The  lad  credited  the  difference,  in  so  far  as  he 
noticed  it,  to  his  own  personal  effort  to  act  the 
part  of  a  Brown  American.  The  altered  condi- 
tions were  apparent;  they  could  not  but  be 
changed  when  a  boy  met  the  requirements  of  a 
new  standard.  One  thing  Pacifico  did  observe.  It 
seemed  easier  to  understand  El  Dangeroso,  easier 
to  learn. 

For  a  while,  Senor  Lasam's  possible  retalia- 
tions worried  Pacifico.  But  nothing  happened. 
So,  though  the  incident,  by  common,  intuitive  con- 
sent, was  never  referred  to  in  discussions  with  El 
Dangeroso,  the  lad  in  time  gained  a  new  assurance 
of  security,  a  greater  faith  in  the  all  powerful 
might  of  his  benefactor.  With  that  assurance 
well  established,  there  was  nothing  to  interfere 
with  the  serious  business  of  life. 

And  being  a  Brown  American  was  a  serious 
occupation.  It  required  the  closest,  most  patient 
application  to  details,  details  so  intricate  that  a 
novice  could  not  avoid  blunders.  The  best  inten- 
tions, the  greatest  earnestness  could  not  guard 
against  errors.  Often  mistakes,  though  they 
could  be  forgiven  a  googoo,  brought  penalties  to 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS  87 

a  Brown  American.  That  was  just,  and  desir- 
able ;  a  Brown  American  would  scorn  to  evade  his 
responsibilities.  Always  telling  the  truth  was 
like  hunting  tormenting  experiences,  and  the 
elimination  of  little  thefts  frequently  meant  the 
sacrifice  of  genuine  opportunities.  But  since 
both  were  "American  Customs,"  a  Brown  Ameri- 
can had  to  observe  them.  Despite  a  certain  con- 
tempt for  such  freakish  "Customs," — freakish, 
to  express  it  mildly, — despite  the  occasional 
thrashings  and  other  unpleasant  personal  conse- 
quences that  resulted  from  their  habitual  prac- 
tise, these  two  "Customs"  were  promptly  and 
thoroughly  mastered. 

Other  "Customs"  proved  more  difficult;  their 
intricacies  were  more  elusive.  There  was  shaving. 
All  Americans  shaved.  All  Americans  shaved 
every  day.  At  least,  El  Dangeroso  did.  So 
Pacifico  shaved  his  smooth,  childish  face  every 
day, — after  El  Dangeroso  had  gone  to  school. 
But  it  was  some  months  before  he  felt  any  secu- 
rity in  the  practise  of  that ' '  Custom. ' '  The  razor, 
sharp  as  the  fighting-spur  of  a  game-cock,  proved 
an  unruly  implement,  one  requiring  great  care 
and  skill  in  its  manipulation. 

Pacifico  never  forgot  his  first  attempt.  He 
used  El  Dangeroso 's  razor.  Though  he  made  his 
face  very  slippery  with  American  soap,  and 
brushed  it  up  to  a  thick  foam,  as  El  Dangeroso 
always  did,  the  razor  caught  on  the  edge  of  his 
jaw.  To  staunch  the  wound  and  to  make  the 


88  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

scratch  as  little  noticeable  as  possible,  it  was 
necessary  to  use  much  white  powder.  And,  of 
course,  Pacifico  was  late  to  school,  for  which  in- 
fraction of  the  rules,  El  Dangeroso  demanded  an 
explanation. 

Pacifico  told  the  truth. 

"Zee  'Custom,'  sir,"  he  fearfully  blurted  out. 

Strangely,  El  Dangeroso  misunderstood.  He 
assumed  that  the  "Custom"  referred  to  was  the 
googoo  "Custom"  of  always  being  late.  With- 
out listening,  or  heeding  the  lad's  efforts  to  ex- 
plain that  it  was  the  "American  Custom"  of 
shaving,  El  Dangeroso  stood  the  culprit  on  the 
floor  and  made  him  wear  the  shameful  sign  on 
his  back,  just  like  a  googoo. 

Afterwards,  Pacifico  substituted  his  own  duller 
razor  for  El  Dangeroso' s.  Pacifico  possessed  a 
razor,  a  rusted  blade  purloined  from  El  Danger- 
oso in  his  thieving  googoo  days,  and  retained 
after  he  had  learned  that  he  was  a  Brown  Ameri- 
can because  certain  belated  explanations  would 
have  been  awkward.  Pacifico  had  not  blamed  the 
disappearance  of  that  razor  to  the  mottled  pig. 
Fortunately,  he  had  remembered  in  time  what 
all  the  world  knows : — pigs  are  like  googoos ;  they 
have  no  whiskers  on  their  chins.  In  fact,  pigs 
have  no  chins;  they  have  smooth  snouts  with 
bristles  under  their  eyes.  Of  course,  bristles  and 
whiskers  are  both  hair,  and  can  be  cut,  and  per- 
haps pigs  would  like  it,  if  the  smooth  went  farther 
up  their  snouts.  But,  then, — Pacifico  had  offered 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS  89 

another  tentative  suggestion,  of  which  he  had 
always  been  proud,  because  there  was  hidden  in 
it  some  necromancy  which  had  warded  off  both 
immediate  and  future  consequences.  El  Danger- 
oso  had  peacefully  accepted  the  explanation  that 
the  razor  might  have  been  swept  up  with  the  rub- 
bish and  so  have  been  thrown  into  the  river, — and 
had  blamed  himself  for  his  carelessness. 

In  time,  Pacifico  mastered  the  intricacies  of  the 
" American  Custom."  But  there  is  little  satis- 
faction in  an  accomplishment,  unless  one  finds 
admiration  for  one's  skill.  As  Pacifico  desired 
admiration, — and  envy, — he  took  his  razor  with 
.him  on  one  of  his  visits  home,  and  shaved. 

"I  am  a  real  American,"  he  boasted;  "I  shave 
every  day." 

Pio  was  interested  in  the  operation.  Under 
some  circumstances,  he  might  have  been  envious. 
As  it  was,  he  saw  the  lack  of  certain  essentials. 

"But  you  have  no  whiskers,"  he  remarked. 
"Americans  have  whiskers." 

Pacifico 's  spirits  descended  to  the  depths  of 
gloom.  Perhaps  he  was  NOT  a  Brown  American ! 
His  father's  statement  was  true.  Americans, 
white  Americans,  all  had  whiskers.  But  because 
of  that  modifier,  white,  he  did  not  give  up  all 
hope. 

"Do  all  Americans  have  whiskers!"  he  asked 
El  Dangeroso  that  night. 

El  Dangeroso  barely  glanced  up  from  his  book. 

"Why — yes,"  he  answered,  absently. 


90  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

There  was  just  one  more  chance.  Pacifico  per- 
sisted with  the  interruption. 

"American  boys,  too?" 

El  Dangeroso  dropped  his  book.  It  was  a 
peculiar  twist  for  interest  in  anatomy  to  take,  but 
it  was  a  real  interest,  even  if  sprung  from  Filipino 
envy  of  a  white  man's  distinctive  hirsute  adorn- 
ment, and  it  would  be  poor  pedagogy  to  discour- 
age a  spontaneous  interest. 

"Yes,  but  they  don't  really  grow  until  a  lad  has 
shaved  for  a  while,"  he  explained. 

After  all,  it  was  something  about  the  shaving! 
Pacifico  wondered  what  mystery  in  the  art  of 
shaving  had  eluded  him.  As  undue  curiosity 
might  arouse  suspicions,  or  result  in  disastrous 
questions,  necessitating  belated  explanations 
about  that  razor,  he  carried  the  immediate  inves- 
tigation no  further,  but  relied  on  observation.  El 
Dangeroso  always  used  a  liquid  from  a  bottle  and 
the  white  powder  after  each  shave,  he  learned. 
The  mystery  of  American  whiskers  was  solved! 
Pacifico  tried  both.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  the 
smart  which  followed  the  application  of  listerine 
vouched  for  the  liquid's  efficacy.  The  talcum 
powder  soothed. 

On  his  next  trip  home,  he  took  a  sample  of  each. 
Unfortunately,  as  his  preparations  were  neces- 
sarily hurried  and  surreptitious,  his  liquid  came 
from  the  wrong  bottle. 

"These  are  what  make  whiskers  grow,"  he  told 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS  91 

his  father.  ' '  Soon,  I  shall  have  a  beard  to  shave, ' ' 
he  boasted. 

Pio  had  no  reason  to  doubt  anything  supported 
by  El  Dangeroso's  eminent  authority.  He  also 
had  great  faith  in  parental  authority.  If  any 
member  of  the  Baliuag  family  were  to  enjoy  the 
distinction  conferred  by  the  possession  of  whisk- 
ers, the  white  man's  distinctive  attribute,  Pio 
meant  to  be  included.  The  younger  member  of 
the  family  could  wait. 

Following  Pacifico's  able  directions,  Pio  shaved 
a  wrinkled  face,  which  in  his  youth,  before  sun 
and  wind  and  time  had  dried  the  vitality  from 
his  skin,  might  have  been  adorned  with  a  weak 
fuzz.  As  Pio  could  endure  pain  for  ambition's 
sake,  he  vigorously  rubbed  the  liquid  on  his  face, 
despite  the  sting  of  numerous  scratches,  and  then 
sprinkled  on  the  powder. 

Finding  that  the  peculiar,  drawing  tension  on 
his  skin  was  a  most  disagreeable  sensation,  Pio 
washed  his  face  before  retiring,  for  his  daily 
siesta,  to  that  corner  of  the  room  in  which  were 
gathered  the  family  supply  of  feathers.  His  face 
felt  much  cooler  and  more  comfortable.  But  the 
feathers  stuck  persistently,  and  would  not  brush 
off.  Now,  if  Pio  had  been  thoroughly  conversant 
with  the  vagaries  of  mucilage,  he  would  have 
understood.  As  it  was,  he  went  to  the  piece  of 
mirror  on  the  wall, — and  stared. 

Just  then,  Pacifico  sauntered  in  from  the  yard. 


92  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"So?  So?"  said  Pio,  a  wicked,  triumphant 
exultation  in  the  swoop  with  which  he  made  for 
his  fighting-cock's  heaviest  tether. 

Pacifico  had  visions.  He  knew  that  the  im- 
pending catastrophe  would  be  far  different  from 
a  mild  kitchen  session  with  El  Dangeroso  and  the 
razor-strop.  In  the  first  place,  the  sincerity  of 
Pio 's  intentions  were  never  in  doubt.  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  no  convenient  table  would  frequently 
substitute  its  legs  for  Pacifico 's.  Nor  could  Pio 
be  deceived  into  satisfaction  with  the  results  at- 
tained by  mere  howls,  by  howls  too  frequent  to 
be  in  harmonious  unison  with  the  blows  of  the 
tether.  In  delay,  or  argument,  was  the  only  hope. 
Pacifico  proved  himself  equal  to  the  emergency, — 
if  it  was  only  with  a  flustered  effort. 

"Perhaps  the  feathers  come  first — to  protect 
the  tender,  little  hairs  from  the  cold, — like  the 
feathers  on  a  chicken's  breast,"  he  suggested,  in 
a  propitiatory  tone  of  voice. 

Pio's  woman  walked  in  just  as  her  "lord 
and  master"  smothered  the  culprit  in  a  tight, 
preliminary  embrace.  She  laughed  derisively, 
laughed  so  boisterously  that  the  bundles  in  her 
arms  were  scattered  on  the  floor. 

"Fool!  Fool  of  a  man!"  she  scolded.  Then 
she  turned  to  El  Dangeroso,  who  had  accompanied 
her  from  town  for  one  of  his  valued  visits.  Point- 
ing scornfully  at  Pio,  she  sneered,  "Not  enough 
labor  has  he,  with  all  the  work  in  the  field.  Fool ! 
He  must  have  whiskers  to  labor  on !  Perhaps,  if 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKEES  93 

he  had  whiskers  to  cover  his  brown,  alligator  hide, 
he  would  be  an  American !  Fool ! ' ' 

Pio  quailed  before  the  lash  of  such  sarcasm. 
Beneath  a  pile  of  tobacco  leaves,  he  hid  his  shame 
from  the  eyes  of  the  scoffer,  until  she  pulled  him 
out  by  an  obtruding,  bare  leg,  and  scrubbed  his 
face  with  a  brush  and  much  soap. 

El  Dangeroso  took  another  view  of  the  matter. 
He  turned  on  Pacifico. 

"You  young  scampi"  he  growled.  "I'll  teach 
you  to  make  a  fool  out  of  the  old  man. ' ' 

On  this  occasion,  El  Dcmgeroso's  intentions 
were  serious  enough.  But  Pacifico  knew  El 
Dangeroso,  and  maintained  a  secure  distance  until 
he  had  made  explanations  that  established  the  in- 
nocence of  his  motives  and  placed  the  incident 
upon  the  plane  of  an  accident.  Of  course,  the 
whole  tale  necessitated  some  humiliating  confes- 
sions,— about  the  long-forgotten  disappearance  of 
the  corn-razor. 

Pacifico 's  mother  was  not  so  easily  appeased. 
But  in  commenting  upon  the  chastisement  admin- 
istered by  her,  Pacifico  assured  El  Dangeroso  that 
Pio  would  have  spanked  so  much  longer, — and 
harder.  Besides,  Pacifico  declared  himself  satis- 
fied with  the  justice  of  the  retribution;  he  had 
taken  the  wrong  liquid, — an  inexcusable  piece  of 
bungling.  Or  the  thrashing  might  well  be  bal- 
anced against  the  long  disappearance  of  the  corn- 
razor,  which  was  again  in  its  owner's  possession. 


94  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

To  El  Dangeroso,  the  incident  was  pathetic. 
Beneath  the  blind,  unguided,  wasted  effort  in  it, 
beneath  the  error  of  mistaking  personal  appear- 
ances, and  white  clothes,  and  physical  prowess, 
and  shooting,  and  such  superficialities  for  the 
realities  of  character  and  worth,  the  man  saw  the 
patient  striving  after  an  ideal,  the  indomitable 
perseverance  in  pursuit  of  an  ambition,  qualities 
that  typified  courage  and  deserved  the  best  of 
guidance.  El  Dangeroso  spent  the  afternoon  in 
giving  the  brown  lad  a  real  ideal  to  aim  at,  and 
planned  for  himself  the  task  of  imparting  the 
definite  instruction  that  would  make  such  a  goal 
a  possibility. 

"Knowledge  of  the  Law  is  what  makes  us 
Americans  powerful,  and  dangerous  to  the  bad  of 
heart,"  he  explained,  "but  I'll  teach  you  to  shoot 
a  gun,  to  box,  everything  of  that  sort  that  I  can, 
if  you  will  really  work  to  learn  all  the  things  I 
know  to  be  worth  while,"  he  promised. 

Pacifico  pondered  upon  the  wonderful  power  of 
knowledge.  He  was  skeptical,  at  first,  because  he 
knew  that  Senor  Lasam  feared  El  Dangeroso' s 
strength  with  the  bejuco  and  not  the  American 
Laws.  But  since  El  Dangeroso  said  it,  he  dis- 
missed his  doubts,  and  believed.  Then  he  gave 
play  to  his  imagination,  and  supposed,  as  he  and 
Emiliana  always  did  in  their  games  of  "make-be- 
lieve," that  El  Dangeroso  was  gone  from  Badi, 
and  that  Pacifico  knew  all  the  "Laws"  in  the  won- 
derful book.  Many  a  ludicrous  situation  appeared 


A  CROP  OF  WHISKERS  95 

before  his  vision, — and  in  every  one,  Senor  La- 
sam,  at  the  climax  of  some  bit  of  rascality,  quailed 
before  an  all- wise  Pacifico  who  knew  the  ' '  Law, ' ' 
and  was  feared  by  the  oppressive  principales, 
and  who  was  respected  by  every  one.  Pacifico 
laughed  to  himself  over  the  ridicule  that  came  to 
Senor  Lasam  in  those  visions  through  the  activi- 
ties of  an  exultant,  brown  "new  El  Danger oso  of 
Badi." 

The  Brown  American  who  took  the  "Acts  of 
the  Commission"  to  bed  with  him  that  night  was- 
the  "new  El  Danger  oso  of  Badi."  And  next  day 
he  had  a  new  game  to  play  with  Emiliana,  the 
game  of  "the  Brown  El  Dangeroso,"  in  which  he 
was  the  hero  who  always  rescued  her  from  some 
direful  fate ; — a  weird  game,  with  many  dangerous 
snags  hidden  in  its  suggestions. 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO 

THE  next  two  years  of  Pacifico  's  service  with 
the  American  were  peaceful,  quiet,  busy 
years.  In  them  Pacifico  grew  through  the  physi- 
cal changes  from  childhood  to  youth  and  learned 
to  speak  an  English  almost  perfect.  Yet  in  most 
matters,  his  Filipino  viewpoint  still  dominated  his 
thoughts  and  actions;  a  condition  of  affairs  not 
fully  realized  by  his  mentor.  El  Dangeroso  saw 
no  valid  reason  for  the  lad's  objection  to  becom- 
ing a  competitor  for  the  School  Medal,  and  in- 
sisted that  Pacifico  work  for  it. 

But  Pacifico  felt  that  he  faced  a  dangerous  di- 
lemma; either  he  must  offend  El  Dangeroso,  or 
he  must  defy  "Custom"  and  invite  the  conse- 
quences therefore. 

"Is  it  wise,  sir?"  he  questioned.  "/  am  an 
ignorante — MY  father  is  only  Pio  Baliuag,  the 
laborer  of  the  hills.  Panfilo  knows  more  English 
than  any  other  principale  boy,  and  he  also  speaks 
Spanish.  All  the  people  will  regard  it  as  an  insult 
to  Senor  Presidente  if  his  nephew  does  not  win 
the  Medal.  It  is  the  'Custom,'  sir/'  he  added,  to 
give  his  protest  the  support  of  an  unanswerable 
reason. 

96 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  97 

As  usual,  the  American  belittled  custombre. 

"Senor  Presidente 's  anger  can  be  terrible," 
Pacifico  suggested,  "and  he  is  powerful." 

"Ah!"  El  Dangeroso  ejaculated.  "You  mean 
that  he  will  surely  punish  somebody  for  the  sup- 
posed insult? — Probably  the  ignorante  winner?" 

Pacifico  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Who  knows?    As  God  wills  it,"  he  answered. 

"You  forget  that  I  am  El  Dangeroso,  who  pro- 
tects his  ignorante  friends  from  the  vengeance  of 
the  bad  of  heart,  even  to  the  point  of  bringing  pub- 
lic humiliation  upon  a  bad  presidents,"  the  Amer- 
ican argued.  "Principales  fear  me." 

That  obvious  truth  silenced  Pacifico.  But  it  was 
not  until  later,  after  finding  Emiliana  Danga  at 
his  father's  shack,  and  feeling  the  spur  of  adula- 
tion in  her  fathomless,  dark  eyes,  that  he  decided 
to  do  as  El  Dangeroso  wished.  In  the  presence 
of  his  family,  and  for  her  benefit,  he  boasted : 

"I  have  no  fear  of  Senor  Presidente;  I  shall 
work  for  the  Medal,  and  I  shall  win  it  from  Pan- 
filo,"  he  declared. 

Pio  shook  his  head  dubiously.  He  could  not  feel 
the  elation  that  shone  in  the  countenances  of 
mother  and  of  betrothed,  nor  would  caution  per- 
mit for  him  the  assurance  that  swayed  his  son. 

"The  things  you  have  said  are  true,"  he 
agreed.  "But  could  El  Dangeroso  save  even  him- 
self, should  Senor  Presidente  use  ALL  of  his 
vast  power  against  the  American?  Such  an  in- 
sult might  arouse  Senor  Lasam's  full  wrath." 


98  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pacifico  laughed  uproariously. 

"Unh!  Let  him  use  it,"  he  sneered.  "Senor 
Lasam  is  an  ignorant  'hard-head'  who  fears  El 
Dangeroso,  the  white  man  that  flogs  bad  presi- 
dentes,"  Pacifico  asserted. 

' * Sh-sh-sh-sh, "  Pio  warned,  "some  one  may  be 
listening. '  ' 

Pacifico  lowered  the  tone  of  his  voice, — out  of 
respect  to  Pio's  fears,  of  course, — and  continued, 
"The  American's  wisdom  forewarns  him  of  all 
dangers,  and  guards  him  against  evil  better  than 
a  'Charm'  could.  He  knows  all  things.  He 
knows  more  than — why — yes" — the  lad  hesitated 
while  he  crossed  himself  surreptitiously — "he 
knows  more  than  the  Pope." 

Pio  promptly  boxed  the  sacrilegious  mouth,  and 
then  crossed  himself. 

The  ringing  in  the  lad's  ears  deafened  him  to 
the  horrified  remonstrances  of  the  women.  For  a 
whole  minute,  Pacifico  held  his  breath,  and  await- 
ed the  possible  Vengeance  of  Heaven.  But  the 
expected  punishment  did  not  materialize. 

"It  is  the  truth*"  he  defiantly  repeated.  "Be- 
sides, El  Dangeroso  is  a  white  man,  and  white  men 
of  wisdom  know  all  things. ' ' 

"Unh,"  Pio  grunted.  But  further  considera- 
tion of  the  facts  pointed  out  a  glaring  flaw  in  his 
son's  reasoning.  "Once  I  warned  the  Ameri- 
can," he  reminded  Pacifico,  "and  it  was  neces- 
sary. If  the  white  man's  wisdom  is  as  wonderful 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  99 

as  you  say,  why  didn't  lie  know  that  there  were 
'Pigs'  along  the  Trail?" 

Pacifico  talked  at  random  until  he  thought  of 
an  answer  to  that  poser. 

"El  Danger  oso  is  a  *  Freak,'  "  he  informed  his 
father.  '  *  The  Spanish  Geography  says, '  The  Uni- 
ted States  is  a  nation  of  Freaks,  of  Advertise- 
ments, and  of  Millionaires,'  and  the  American 
Geographies  do  not  deny  it.  A  book  says  it  is 
so.  That  night,  El  Dangeroso  knew  that  there 
were  *  Pigs'  along  the  Trail,  though  he  did  not 
admit  it,"  the  lad  claimed.  "But  who  can  ac- 
count for  the  whims,  or  the  actions,  of  a  'Freak'?" 
he  triumphed.  "Possibly,  he  wanted  proof  that 
we  are  Brown  Americans." 

"Jesul"  Emiliana  exclaimed.  "If  American 
wisdom  can  make  a  'Freak'  so  powerful,  what 
will  it  do  for  a  sensible  man?" 

The  force  of  that  contention  aroused  Pio's 
respect  for  his  son's  coming  greatness,  and  also 
silenced  him.  He  foresaw  the  day  when  he  should 
proudly  announce,  "My  son."  But  no  man  could 
tell  what  dreams  filled  the  thoughts  of  the  two 
women;  dreams  of  the  bowings,  and  scrapings, 
and  distinctions  which  Pacifico  should  receive, — 
with  themselves  in  the  near  background. 

The  growls  of  the  curs  interrupted.  The  igno- 
rantes  listened,  their  eyes  on  the  door.  The  heavy, 
laborious  tread  of  the  approaching  feet  cast  over 
them  the  spell  of  foreboding.  A  knock! 

"Entra,"  Pio  called. 


100  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

A  perspiring,  puffing  Senor  Presidente  waddled 
in.  Only  Emiliana  kept  her  presence  of  mind. 
Lest  her  beautiful  person  should  remind  the  vis- 
itor of  Tallud's  desire  for  her,  she  sprang  through 
the  window  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Senor  Presidente  mopped  his  face,  deposited  his 
massive  physique  on  the  floor  in  the  customary 
squat,  cleared  his  throat,  and  in  his  most  oracular 
style,  propounded  the  truth,  "What  God  has 
willed,  must  be."  He  paused  long  enough  to  be- 
stow a  fatherly,  benign  smile  upon  the  three. 
"God  wills  that  some  be  principales,  like  me  and 
mine.  And  some,  like  you  and  yours,  must  be 
laborers.  And  Pio,  too  much  education  is  bad 
for  an  ignorcmte;  it  makes  him  dissatisfied  with 
his  lot  in  life,  and  unhappy." 

They  understood. 

The  mother  cried  an  anguished  protest  against 
the  veiled  command.  But  though  the  wracking 
sobs  of  his  woman  almost  unnerved  him,  though 
his  own  lips  trembled,  Pio  managed  to  mumble 
a  "Wen,  senor,"  of  assent,  and  to  keep  his  mo- 
tionless, expressionless  eyes  focused  on  Senor 
Lasam's  face. 

On  his  way  out,  Senor  Lasam  placed  his  pudgy, 
greasy  fist  on  the  ignorant  one's  head.  Slowly, 
impressively,  he  delivered  the  warning,  "It  would 
be  sacrilegious  to  dispute  the  Will  of  God,  and 
dangerous  to  tempt  His  Vengeance  for  thwarting 
His  Divine  Providence.  God  has  willed  that  Pa- 
cifico  shall  be  a  laborer.  Let  him  put  away  the 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  101 

fine  clothes  so  much  above  his  station  in  life,  and 
take  your  place  at  laboring  in  the  fields,  while 
you  rest,  as  is  the  l Custom*  of  our  country.  It 
is  the  Will  of  God,  and  I  advise  it." 

Pio's  eyes  did  not  falter  at  the  threat,  although 
he  could  barely  articulate  the  expected  "Wen, 
senor."  The  old  ignorante  exulted  in  his  son's 
poise;  about  it  was  nothing  to  shame  a  father, 
no  "spectacle"  for  such  a  connoisseur  of  misery 
as  Senor  Presidente  to  gloat  over.  Only  the  lad's 
dry,  burning,  unflinching  eyes  stared  at  the  ruins 
of  a  crumbled  dream. 

Next  morning,  the  children  on  their  way  to 
school  discovered  Pacifico  squatted  in  the  shelter 
of  the  bamboo  lean-to  in  his  father's  corn-fields, 
and  hailed  him  with  various  inquiries. 

In  reply,  he  only  grasped  the  end  of  the  bam- 
boo rope  stretched  across  the  field,  mechanically 
rattled  the  old  cans  dangling  from  it,  and  brooded 
in  the  safety  of  their  din.  And  on  this  morning, 
the  tins  served  no  purpose  other  than  to  drown 
out  the  suggestive  hails  of  his  schoolmates,  for 
there  was  neither  locust  nor  bird  to  be  frightened 
from  a  feast  of  corn.  Only  the  green  leaves  flut- 
tered,— and  the  golden  corn-silk, — and  Pacifico 's 
thoughts. 

Children  and  School  and  El  Dcmgeroso  and 
Americans  and  The  Future  and  Dreams  and  Lib- 
erty and  Ambitions,  were  no  longer  Interests  in 
his  Life.  For  him,  there  were  The  Following  of 
the  Plow  and  The  Harvest  and  Tobacco  and  The 


102  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Siesta  and  Buja  and  Gambling  and  Cock-fights 
and  A  Woman.  A  woman?  Emiliana?  She 
went  to  the  American  School.  And  Ardelardo 
could  go  to  School!  And  would  become  a  Princi- 
pale!  He  could  win  HER! 

Pacific  choked  back  a  sob,  and  cursed. 

And  who  would  miss  the  ignorante,  Pacifico  Ba- 
liuag,  son  of  Pio  Baliuag,  who  was  a  laborer  of 
the  hills?  Emiliana?  But  Ardelardo  would  win 
HER  now!  Perhaps  Panfilo  would  exult  openly 
over  his  rival's  downfall.  Panfilo!  Pacifico 
grated  his  teeth; — Jesu,  Santa  Maria,  y  Josep! 
how  he  hated  Panfilo  and  all  of  Panfilo 's  kin! 

Pacifico  grabbed  up  the  rope  and  jangled  the 
tins  belligerently. 

And  El  Dangeroso?  Pacifico  almost  sobbed 
like  a  woman, — but  instead,  he  swore  like  Pio. 
And  then,  over  and  over,  came  the  Temptation. 
Suppose  a  boy,  a  Brown  American  should  defy 
a  Parental  Command,  and  should  risk  Senor  Pre- 
sidente's  vengeance, — and  should  tell  El  Dange- 
roso the  truth!  Pacifico  shuddered.  Yet  Senor 
El  Dangeroso  was  a  "Freak,"  an  American 
"Freak,"  a  white-skinned  "Freak,"  and  he 
MIGHT  be  more  powerful  than  Senor  Lasam.  He 

might  even  discover  the  truth  without !  But 

how  could  that  be, — when  there  was  no  one  to  tell 
him?  And  yet ? 

The  warning  hum  of  the  Locust- Scourge,  just 
a  great  droning  whir  that  floated  louder  and  loud- 
er upon  the  air,  was  lost  in  the  medley  of  the 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  103 

boy's  reverie,  and  in  the  din  of  the  clanging  cans. 
Down  the  broad,  treacherous  Cagayan  and  around 
the  bend  toward  the  South,  a  dark,  wand-like  cloud 
extended  to  the  apparent  junction  of  the  East 
Coast  Sierra  Madres  and  a  Spur  of  Foothills  from 
the  West  Coast  Mountains.  Twisting  and  turning 
with  the  course  of  the  river,  flashing  in  the  sun- 
light, resistless,  relentless,  unpitying,  the  slender 
cloud  of  locusts  swept  onward  in  its  rush  to  the 
turbulent  China  Sea. 

But  the  lad's  brooding  fancies  blinded  him  to 
the  threatening  grandeur  in  its  nearer  approach, 
— the  terrible  grandeur  of  Destruction  advancing, 
— and  the  jangling  tins  still  subdued  the  mono- 
tone of  its  humming  song. 

All  the  laborers  and  all  that  could  make  a  noise, 
— principales  and  ignorcmtes,  men  and  women,  the 
old  and  the  young,  the  strong  of  limb  and  the 
feeble, — hurried  into  the  fields,  circled  about 
them ;  banging  pans,  pounding  the  earth,  shriek- 
ing, howling,  shouting,  yelling,  straining  their 
muscles  and  lungs  in  their  efforts  to  raise  a  ter- 
rifying clamor.  One  hope  abided  in  each  heart, 
the  hope  that  the  locust's  harvest  of  starvation, 
of  woe,  of  disease,  and  death  would  be  a  neigh- 
bor's portion. 

Still  oblivious  to  the  din  about  him,  Pacifico 
brooded  on,  and  mechanically  rattled  the  cans 
about  his  field. 

As  the  Scourge  swept  nearer,  dashing,  drop- 
ping, arising  again  in  a  wave-like  flight,  the  people 


104  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

broke  into  one  vehement,  protesting,  agonized 
cry, — a  united  shout  of  rage, — of  despair. 

Pacifico  sprang  to  his  feet,  sprang  into  the 
vanguard  of  the  Insect  Host.  Startled  by  such  a 
sudden  apparition,  as  they  had  not  been  disturbed 
by  the  prolonged  uproar,  the  Leaders  parted  to 
the  right  and  to  the  left  of  the  lad,  as  a  Mountain 
Stream  sometime  divides  and  ilows  around  the 
pebble  in  its  pafi.  The  Mass  of  the  Pests  fol- 
lowed them, — an',  all  the  people  marvelled  to  see 
the  sun  shine  undimmed  on  Pio  Baliuag's  corn. 

A  rod  in  thickness,  a  half  mile  in  width,  the  In- 
sect Mist  rolled  over  and  about  the' people,  and 
driven  on  by  the  millions  of  atoms  pressing  hard 
on  those  before,  swept  onward  again,  dimming 
the  noon-day  sun  and  casting  a  shadow  upon  the 
earth.  None  of  the  people  missed  the  full  power 
of  the  sun's  rays,  nor  felt  the  chill  beneath  and 
within  the  pest-cloud,  for  they  knew  only  the  wear- 
iness of  their  exertions.  But  the  locusts  sneered 
at  human  efforts,  scoffed  at  the  death  dealt  them, 
and  stayed  to  feast  where  they  would.  As  far  as 
eye  could  see,  the  cavalcade  had  neither  beginning 
nor  end. 

Where  the  insects  rested  for  but  a  moment,  the 
green  of  the  corn  turned  to  the  dull  brown  of  the 
pests,  and  the  stalks  crumbled  and  fell  under  their 
wriggling,  crawling,  hungry  weight.  As  fast  as 
blows  of  clubs  crushed  them,  others  took  the  places 
of  the  destroyed ;  while  the  thousands  which,  hold- 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  105 

ing  grimly  to  their  course,  flew  into  the  nets  set 
for  them,  were  but  a  drop  to  the  thunder  shower. 

At  night  there  was  famine  where  there  had 
been  plenty,  but  the  field  of  Pio  Baliuag  was  an 
island  of  green  in  a  river  of  scorched,  brown,  dead 
stalks,  and  Pio  offered  his  prayers  to  Jesu,  Santa 
Maria,  y  Josep.  Perhaps  there  was  in  the  old 
ignorant,  j's  heart  a  little  more  kindness  toward 
Senor  Presidente.  Pacifico  had  certainly  been  the 
Instrument  of  God !  If  the  boy  had  gone  to  school 
as  usual?  If  Pio  had  heeded  the  lad's  arguments, 
had  trusted  to  the  American's  power,  had  fol- 
lowed impulse,  had  disobeyed  Senor  Presidente 's 
commands'?  Pio  shuddered.  His  eyes  wandered 
off,  back  and  forth  and  around,  to  the  fields  be- 
hind his  own,  to  those  before  it,  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left.  But  seldom  in  a  lifetime  did  a  man 
even  hear  of  such  a  prompt  manifestation  of  God's 
Approval,  much  less  see  it,  or  experience  it.  In 
the  presence  of  a  Miracle,  Pio  crossed  himself. 
Then  he  sighed.  And  then  he  saw  El  Dangeroso 
far  down  the  Trail. 

For  a  full  minute,  Pio  held  his  knees  together 
with  such  force  that  there  was  no  instant  of  time 
in  which  each  did  not  feel  the  pressure  of  the 
other.  But  with  the  American's  nearer  approach, 
he  sneaked  away. 

El  Dangeroso  studied  the  old  man's  stooped, 
bony  back,  until  the  half -lope,  half -shuffle  had  car- 
ried the  ignorante  into  the  bamboo  lean-to.  The 
white  man  walked  over  to  Pacifico. 


106  THE  SON  OF  PIO 


's  the  matter?"  he  demanded. 

The  snap  in  the  question  warned  the  lad  that 
something  had  aroused  the  suspicions  of  the  om- 
nipotent American.  Pacifico  picked  up  a  clod  of 
earth  between  his  toes  and  carefully  examined 
it.  Twice,  the  tip  of  his  tongue  moistened  his 
lips.  Then  he  coughed  vigorously,  undoubtedly 
causing  thereby  the  tears  that  blurred  his  sight 
and  the  gulp  with  which  he  swallowed  the  obstruc- 
tion in  his  throat.  Methodically,  he  balanced  him- 
self on  the  ball  of  one  foot,  held  his  body  in  per- 
fect poise  while  he  took  a  careful  aim  at  a  danc- 
ing, distant  tin,  and  threw  the  clod  with  all  his 
strength.  The  missile  struck  the  ground  just 
three  paces  in  front  of  him. 

"I  must  leave  school.  My  father  is  old,  sir, 
and  I  must  help  him,  '  '  he  declared  ;  *  *  it  is  the  '  Cus- 
tom/ " 

Pacifico  prayed  for  some  interruption,  for  any 
interruption  that  would  end  that  cutting,  super- 
cilious survey  of  himself,  even  prayed  that  the 
American  would  curse,  or  strike  with  the  real  be- 
juco,  as  an  angry  principale  should. 

Instead,  the  American  shook  his  head  slowly, 
sadly,  as  though  Pacifico  had  wielded  a  bejuco. 

A  dumb,  furtive  prayer  in  the  lad's  swimming, 
dark  eyes  begged  for  understanding. 

"You  poor  little  brown  devil!"  El  Dangeroso 
sympathized.  "I  suppose  you  are  only  obeying 
the  old  man's  orders,  —  and  that  is  'Custom,'  too. 
Is  that  it,  sonny?  Is  that  why  you  are  lying  to 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  107 

me  again, — and  after  all  these  months  of  being 
square?  And  it  is  a  mighty  poor  lie,  at  that, 
sonny. " 

The  familiar  closeness  of  that  word,  sonny, 
which  the  American  used  to  no  other,  brought  the 
tears. 

El  Dangeroso  strode  after  Pio. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  demanded. 

The  old  Filipino  ceased  rattling  the  tins,  and 
glanced  at  the  bejuco  hanging  from  the  Ameri- 
can's wrist, — for  who  ever  heard  of  a  man  of 
principals  cast  that  would  hesitate  at  using  a  con- 
venient pony-lash  on  an  ignorante.  In  Pio's  eyes 
there  was  also  a  plea.  It  moved  him  strangely  to 
look  into  the  calm,  stern  face  of  the  man  who 
had  befriended  his  boy,  the  white-skinned  face 
which  spoke  so  many  things,  but  which  his  ele- 
mental mind  could  not  read. 

"It  is  time  for  him  to  work,  senor.  He  has 
been  to  the  wonderful  School  long  enough,  senor. 
I  am  an  old  man,  senor,  and  he  must  help  me 
with  the  labor  in  the  field.  That  is  just,  senor, 
is  it  not  so?  Not "  Pio  asserted,  though  he  trem- 
bled at  his  audacity  in  making  such  a  statement 
in  the  presence  of  white-skinned  omnipotence. 

El  Dangeroso  studied  the  stooped,  old  man, 
and  shook  his  head. 

Pio  thought  the  American  was  glaring  at  him. 
Pio  cowered. 

The  American  discerned  in  that  pose,  not  con- 
scious guilt,  only  a  fatalist's  submission  to  the 


108  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Inevitable.  And  El  Dangeroso  knew  just  how 
"Fate"  manifested  itself  to  the  ignorantes  of 
Badi.  For  a  moment,  he  gave  the  ignorante  a 
more  careful  survey, — a  penetrating,  disconcert- 
ing survey. 

''You  have  been  a  pretty  good  old  boy,  Pio," 
the  American  declared.  "Not  many  googoos 
would  have  worked  like  hell  just  to  give  the  kid 
his  chance.  Most  of  them  would  have  let  the  lad 
have  the  mucho  sun,  mucho  sweat,  and  mucho 
trouble.  But  you  have  acted  like  an  American. 
And  now?"  He  paused,  studied  the  old  man 
again,  and  shook  his  head.  "That  story  won't 
do." 

Pio  studied  the  unobtrusive  lash. 

Observing  that  significant,  suggestive  glance,  El 
Dangeroso  tossed  the  bejuco  far  away,  and  re- 
quested the  truth,  as  a  friend  might  ask  it. 

Pio  licked  his  lips,  and  protested  that  he  had 
told  the  truth.  But  his  woman  sobbed  and  sobbed, 
and  begged  the  American  with  her  eyes. 

"Senor  Presidente  Lasam  was  at  your  house 
last  night,"  El  Dangeroso  stated.  "You  see,  I 
need  not  be  told." 

Pio  started,  and  his  roving  eyes  searched  the 
twilight  on  all  sides,  but  especially  behind  him. 

"Senor  Presidente  came  to  buy  my  tobacco, 
senor,  to  buy  my  tobacco,"  he  claimed.  "It  is 
the  truth,  senor,  I  swear  it  is  the  truth.  By  Jesu, 
Santa  Maria,  y  Josep,  I  swear  it. ' ' 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  109 

"That  is  a  false  oath,"  El  Danger o so  charged. 
"And  why  should  you  fear  Senor  Lasam?  Has 
any  harm  ever  come  to  Juan  Danga,  the  ignorantc 
that  flogged  Senor  Presidente  at  my  command? 
Senor  Lasam  fears  my  wrath.  Why  else  should 
he  give  his  commands  at  night,  and  in  secret?" 

The  toil-worn  old  man  bowed  his  head  in  silent 
thought.  His  hands  nervously  clasped  and  un- 
clasped, while  his  lips  formed  the  words  he  dared 
not  utter.  His  Woman's  beseeching  eyes  looked 
up  into  his  thin,  wrinkled,  earthy  face  and  im- 
plored him  to  tell.  She  put  her  own  hard,  brown 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  whispered  to  him.  The 
action  brought  the  memory  of  a  time  long  gone 
by,  the  memory  of  hopes.  Knowing  the  decision 
which  her  mother-love  would  dictate,  he  turned 
suddenly  about  and  walked  off,  leaving  her  alone 
with  the  American. 

The  old  woman  crept  very  close  to  Senor  El 
Dangeroso.  With  many  an  admonitory  "Hist," 
with  many  a  furtive,  side-long  glance,  with  many 
a  "Jesu,  senor!"  she  whispered  into  the  Ameri- 
can's ear  a  voluble  account  of  Senor  Presidente 's 
visit. 

Later,  a  cynically  smiling  El  Dangeroso  strolled 
into  the  long,  bare  assembly-hall  of  the  Tribunal, 
and  came  to  a  halt  before  the  wobbly  chair  that 
sustained  Senor  Presidente 's  corpulency.  Again 
and  again  the  American's  eyes  swept  the  pudgy, 
linen  figure,  from  bristly  crown  to  slippered  feet. 


110  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Presidente  waited,  like  an  ignorante,  for 
the  white  man  to  speak. 

"Pacifico  and  several  other  ignorante  boys  were 
not  in  school  to-day,"  the  American  Teacher  re- 
ported to  Senor  Lasam,  who,  as  the  official  Senor 
Chairman  of  the  Municipal  Board  of  Education, 
certainly  ought  to  be  informed  of  all  general  cases 
of  truancy. 

In  a  slight  hesitation  in  the  white  man's  speech, 
Senor  Presidente  detected  a  smooth,  quiet  drawl, 
while  the  visitor 's  meditative  gaze  seemed  to  focus 
upon  that  portion  of  Senor  Lasam 's  anatomy 
which  once  had  borne  the  marks  of  El  Dangeroso's 
bejuco.  Senor  Presidente  crossed  his  legs,  and 
uncrossed  them. 

1 1  So  ? "  he  ventured.  But  silently,  he  cursed  the 
uncommunicative  "Pig  of  an  American.'*  The 
"Pig's"  words  NEVER  revealed  the  true  extent 
of  his  knowledge.  "So,"  he  repeated. 

El  Dangeroso  dug  one  fist  into  a  pocket,  whis- 
tled absently,  and  gave  his  attention  to  nothing  in 
particular. 

Senor  Lasam  pondered.  But  surely  no  igno- 
rante had  dared  to  confirm  the  "Pig's"  suspi- 
cions !  He  sighed  his  relief,  and  mopped  his  per- 
spiring face. 

The  bejuco  cracked. 

Senor  Lasam  jumped.  Surreptitiously  he  ob- 
served the  deadly  precision  with  which  El  Dan- 
geroso snapped  the  flies  from  the  table.  With  just 
such  a  fascination  as  the  terrifying  exerts,  that 


THE  SPECTER  BEJUCO  111 

bejuca  charmed  Senor  Lasam.  He  watched  it  curl 
and  twist  and  squirm  and  sting,  and  heard  it  hiss 
and  swish. 

El  Dangeroso  noted  the  absorbed  admiration 
of  his  skill.  He  bent  the  whip  into  a  loop,  re- 
leased the  tip,  and  held  the  lash  in  the  light  of 
the  window  until  the  last  vibrations  ceased.  The 
expression  of  his  face,  his  manner,  as  well  as  his 
words,  bespoke  a  connoisseur's  admiration  for  the 
beautiful  lash. 

"A  wonderful  bejuco!"  he  said.  "The  heart 
of  tempered  steel  gives  it  a  spring  and  body  that 
can  drive  its  corded  deer-thong  binding." 

"Wen,  senor,"  Senor  Lasam  hastily  conceded. 

When  a  sudden  snap  dropped  a  stray  locust, 
Senor  Lasam  squirmed  in  his  creaky  chair. 

"And  it  cuts  a  beautiful  welt,"  El  Dangeroso 
boasted. 

"Wen,  senor,"  Senor  Presidente  chattered. 

El  Dangeroso  suddenly  lost  all  interest  in  the 
subject  of  conversation.  Carelessly  switching  his 
whip,  he  sauntered  out  of  the  Tribunal. 

Senor  Presidente  climbed  to  his  feet,  and 
glanced  behind  him.  He  felt  that  spot  of  his  per- 
son which  had  endured  the  insult  on  the  never-to- 
be-forgotten  occasion  of  his  public  humiliation  at 
the  hands  of  Juan  Danga.  The  memory  of  that 
bitter  experience  grew  more  and  more  vivid,  so 
vivid  that  once  again  he  could  almost  feel  the 
biting  sting  of  the  blows.  Anxiously,  he  peered 
into  the  shadows  of  the  corners,  as  though  he  ex- 


112  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

pected  a  blow  from  a  Specter  wielded  lash.  Then 
he  waddled  out  of  the  Tribunal  away  from  rhe 
Specter.  But  the  Bejuco  of  his  Imagination  fol- 
lowed him.  It  seemed  to  swish  just  at  his  heels, 
and  though  he  waddled  faster  and  faster,  it  kept 
up  with  him.  And  so  he  waddled  to  the  barrio 
of  Andaman. 

"Yes,"  he  said  to  Pio  Baliuag,  "I  have  heard 
how  Pacifico  used  his  knowledge  to-day  to  save 
your  corn.  It  is  well  for  the  people  to  know  how 
the  locusts  may  be  scared  away,  is  it  not  sol 
You  will  send  the  boy  to  school." 

It  was  humiliating.  But  the  Specter  Bejuco 
was  insistent;  it  followed  him  still.  With  many 
a  backward  glance,  he  waddled  to  the  homes  of 
Pedro  and  Ardelardo.  Only  when  he  had  coun- 
termanded all  of  his  orders  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing was  he  able  to  waddle  homeward  in  puffing, 
perspiring  peace  and  comfort. 

Seated  within  his  Tribunal  once  more,  he  vowed 
vengeance ; — sometime. 


CHAPTER  VI 

RENUNCIATION 

IN  the  Cagayan  Valley,  a  February  day  should 
charm  the  senses,  should  soothe  the  emotions. 
Its  soft  warmth  caresses  nature,  and  nurses  into 
vigorous  growth  the  tender  unfolding  buds  that 
cover  the  bare  limbs  and  stalks  of  trees  and 
brush.  And  if  it  be  the  first  perfect  day  after 
the  rains  when  the  pools  are  dried  but  the  earth 
is  still  soft  and  moist,  the  new  blades  of  grass 
spread  a  restful  mantle  over  the  dull  monotone 
of  clay.  Germinating  life  seems  in  undue  haste, 
as  though  some  sense  warned  it  against  delay  in 
reaching  a  maturity  hardy  enough  to  withstand 
the  withering,  scorching  onslaught  of  the  tropic 
summer.  On  such  a  day  the  winds  are  stilled, 
and  the  bare,  rugged  outlines  of  the  mighty  moun- 
tains tower,  unveiled,  into  the  undimmed  blue  of 
heaven,  as  though  the  Master  of  the  Winds,  in 
a  strangely  beneficent  mood,  had  conspired  with 
the  Father  of  Waters  to  leave  unmarred  by  storm 
or  mist  the  one  kindly  spell  of  the  year.  So  the 
Magician,  who,  on  behalf  of  mankind,  had  wrested 
the  concession  from  the  God  of  Fire,  knew  that 
every  human  being  should  feel  the  thrill  of  the 
February  day. 

113 


114  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Yet  on  such  a  day,  Emiliana  brooded.  The 
sinister,  treacherous  purr,  the  gentle  laps  of  the 
waters  against  the  bank,  alone  betraying  the  speed 
with  which  the  silent,  unruffled  Cagayan  rushed 
by,  harmonized  better  with  her  mood.  Pacifico 
might  sense  the  day,  might  respond  in  his  whole 
being  to  all  of  its  soporific  charm  without  com- 
prehension of  its  full  import,  but  for  her  its  sug- 
gestion of  budding  life  carried  a  sting. 

Yesterday  she  was  still  a  child.  To-day,  she 
was  a  woman  of  sixteen.  Womanhood  implied 
more  than  the  early  physical  maturity  of  the  Trop- 
ics. There  was  yesterday  to  prove  it.  Though 
that  February  day,  so  like  this  one,  had  insidiously 
called  upon  her  maturer  self  to  force  childhood 
from  the  domination  of  her  being,  she  had  wilfully 
resisted  the  attacks,  and  had  laughed  and  danced 
and  frolicked  with  Pacifico  in  the  old  childish 
way.  The  stimulus  of  an  exaggerated,  careless 
gaiety  had  sustained  her  spirits,  and  had  deafened 
her  consciousness  to  the  voice  she  fought. 

Lightly,  yet  somewhat  seriously,  as  though  the 
man  of  him  vaguely  felt  its  significance,  Pacifico 
spoke  of  the  day; — a  thoughtless  comment,  but 
tinged  by  an  indefinite  emotion  in  the  tone  of  his 
voice,  "We  could  drift  down  the  river  on  a  day 
like  this,  and  forget  everything  but  the  peaceful 
beauty  of  it  all." 

The  surprise  of  hearing  that  thought  which 
she  had  definitely  barred  from  her  own  mind, 
the  manner  of  the  speaker,  broke  her  resistance. 


RENUNCIATION  115 

That  February  day  won ;  womanhood  claimed  the 
ascendancy  over  childhood.  She  had  sobbed,  and 
fled,  and  had  refused  an  answer  to  a  single  en- 
treaty with  which  he  had  pursued  her  until  she 
had  slammed  the  door  of  her  father's  shack  in 
his  face. 

The  night  and  morning  of  pondering  had  left 
her  filled  with  doubts.  And  so,  while  she  waited 
on  the  river-bank  in  her  father's  yard  for  Paci- 
fico  to  come,  she  brooded. 

Emiliana  admitted  her  love,  a  woman's  love, 
for  Pacifico.  Overnight,  she  had  discovered  it  in 
herself.  But  Pacifico  loved — his  ambition,  the 
new  life  interests  which  had  fascinated  him. 

Slowly,  gradually,  so  imperceptibly  that  only 
comparisons  between  times  far  apart  revealed  the 
change,  Pacifico  had  slipped  away  from  her,  away 
from  the  sympathetic  understanding  that  had  ex- 
isted between  them  in  their  childhood. 

Tears  welled  up  in  Emiliana 's  eyes.  But  they 
did  not  flow. 

Pacifico  would  deny  the  existence  of  any  es- 
trangement, but  she  intuitively  felt  it.  The  suitors 
that  wooed  her,  had  wooed  her  for  months,  con- 
firmed her  certainty  of  it.  Pacifico  was  so  mat- 
ter-of-fact, so  indifferent,  about  them.  Even 
when  she  told  him  of  the  compliments  they  paid 
her,  and  ridiculed  them  for  their  words,  he  never 
thought  to  admit  the  truth  of  what  they  said. 
And  without  vanity,  she  knew  that  she  was  beauti- 
ful. Their  efforts  to  court  her  did  not  worry  him. 


116  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

But  in  the  past,  when  Pacifico  had  offended  her 
and  she  had  gone  to  play  with  Ardelardo,  Pacifico 
had  always  surrendered. 

Emiliana  smiled  wistfully. 

That  was  before  El  Dangeroso  came.  Before 
the  American  came !  The  American  ?  The  Amer- 
ican had  wrought  in  Pacifico  that  change,  a  change 
only  intensified  by  the  lad's  ambition  to  become 
"the  El  Dangeroso  of  Badi"  when  the  white  man 
should  leave! 

Emiliana  hated  both  the  American  and  the  am- 
bition. The  example  of  the  one,  the  glory  of  the 
other,  had  stolen  Pacifico  from  her.  In  four  years, 
he  had  grown  away  from  her.  She  had  sensed  it 
in  those  dead,  childish  days  before  yesterday; — 
and  but  a  month  back,  she  had  reproached  Pacifico 
for  the  difference  in  his  attitude  toward  her. 
Even  yet,  chagrin  made  her  eyes  smart  at  the 
memory.  He  had  misunderstood,  and  had  blamed 
"Custom,"  as  though  she  were  ignorant  of  the 
restraints  imposed  by  "Custom"  upon  a  friend- 
ship between  a  man  and  a  woman,  as  though  the 
glow  of  sympathy  and  understanding  could  not 
brighten  formality.  She  had  had  to  laugh  at  him, 
when  she  really  had  wanted  to  slap  him,  to  state 
definitely  that  she  had  no  desire  to  get  into 
scrapes,  nor  to  play  the  new  game  of  "the  El 
Dangeroso  of  Badi."  And  still  he  had  failed  to 
understand !  So  she  had  suspected  that  he  talked 
to  her  about  V boxing"  and  "shooting"  and 
"American  Laws"  and  his  new  interests,  not  be- 


RENUNCIATION  117 

cause  he  loved  her  in  a  man's  way,  but  only  be- 
cause the  custom  of  talking  to  her,  developed  in 
play,  had  just  continued  and  made  it  easy  for  him 
to  confide  in  her. 

No,  Pacifico  did  not  love  her.  He  thought  of 
nothing  but  his1  new  interests; — his  "boxing" 
with  El  Dangeroso,  and  his  "shooting"  on  the 
river,  and  "Laws."  They  had  his  heart,  and  so 
Emiliana  despised  them.  She  remembered  her 
own  favorite  amusement,  and  modified  her  judg- 
ment. She  could  understand  his  interest  in  the 
"Laws";  they  were  something  to  read,  though 
American  school-books,  and  novels,  and  histories 
were  so  much  more  enjoyable.  But  even  in  the 
case  of  the  "Laws,"  she  resented  his  love  for 
them.  He  did  love  them,  though  he  would  deny 
it;  he  always  talked  about  them.  Yet  Emiliana 
was  just  to  Pacifico;  she  admitted  his  sincerity 
in  claiming  that  his  interest  in  boxing  and  shoot- 
ing and  Laws  arose  from  the  prospects  that  they 
would  open  for  both.  He  believed  it.  But  she 
instinctively  knew — all  that  no  mere  man  could 
see.  Besides,  the  suitors  who  pressed  their  at- 
tentions upon  her,  compelled  her  to  realize  the 
true  significance  of  things. 

She  threw  a  clod  into  the  river,  and  watched 
the  ripples  spread, — and  fade, — and  melt  away. 

Like  the  Cagayan,  calm,  mild,  benignant  on  the 
surface,  El  Dangeroso  was  really  a  malignant, 
turbulent,  treacherous  breeder  of  sorrow.  His 
influence,  like  the  waters  below  her,  had  insidi- 


118  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

ously  swept  her  and  Pacifico  gently  onward,  and 
then,  without  warning,  had  crashed  them  on  the 
snags  of  life.  If  the  American  had  never  come 
to  Badi,  Pacifico  would  have  grown  up  without 
his  new  interests,  and  would  have  loved  her,  and 
she  would  have  been  happy. 

Happy?  Would  she?  Some  instinct  within 
her  objected  to  the  conclusion.  Such  a  Pacifico 
would  have  been — she  hesitated,  groped  for  a 
comparison.  His  father,  Pio,  came  to  mind.  Such 
a  Pacifico  would  have  become  like  Pio,  scrawny 
and  wrinkled  and  stooped  with  toil.  For  herself, 
she  would  have  preferred  a  Pacifico  like  Pio; 
he  would  have  been  hers  alone.  But  for  Pacifico  ? 
She  saw  the  Pacifico  that  would  be.  A  Master 
and  Leader  of  men !  And  that  was  best  for  Paci- 
fico. That  was  as  Emiliana  wished  it  to  be. 

Then  she  accused  herself  for  allowing  Pacifico 
to  grow  beyond  her.  The  answer  came :  ' '  I  have 
done  my  best."  A  review  of  the  past  confirmed 
the  claim.  In  the  first  two  years  of  El  Dange- 
roso's  work  in  Badi,  she  had  studied  merely  for 
the  pleasure  of  learning.  In  the  third  year,  she 
had  won  the  first  Medal  for  the  Girls'  School  as 
easily  as  Pacifico  had  won  that  for  the  Boys' 
School.  Household  duties  and  labor  in  the  fields 
had  kept  her  from  studying  as  much  as  she  had 
wished,  from  accomplishing  all  that  she  had  de- 
sired. The  same  handicap  had  interfered  with 
every  other  girl,  and  so  the  boys,  upon  whom 
" Custom"  imposed  fewer  responsibilities,  had  ex- 


RENUNCIATION  119 

celled  the  girls.  Yet  only  Pacifico  among  both 
boys  and  girls  had  surpassed  her.  And  if  she 
had  had  a  Patron  like  El  Dangeroso,  if  some 
American  woman  had  been  for  her  a  guide  and 
example,  she  knew  she  would  have  kept  pace 
with  him.  She  had  done  her  best.  "Custom," 
the  greater  restrictions  upon  her  time,  her  poorer 
opportunities,  had  allowed  him  to  outstrip  her. 

But  suppose  she  should  win  the  Scholarship 
which  the  American  had  offered  to  the  boy  or 
girl,  barring  Pacifico,  who  first  succeeded  in  pre- 
paring for  the  Provincial  High  School.  A  thought 
startled  Emiliana.  "Why  did  the  American  always 
urge  her  to  win  it?  The  wily  American!  He 
had  seen  whither  Emiliana  and  Pacifico  .were 
drifting. 

Emiliana  smiled  wistfully,  perhaps  kindly. 

But  El  Dangeroso  was  a  man  and  could  not 
understand.  What  if  she  did  become  a  teacher! 
Pacifico  would  go  to  Manila.  Old  Pio  was  not  a 
peon,  like  HER  father;  he  could  save  the  extra 
pesos  from  his  crop  and  the  pesos  he  won  in  the 
cock-pit.  Even  without  a  Patron's  aid,  Pacifico 
would  go  to  Manila. 

Emiliana  stared  southward  down  the  Great 
River.  Manila  lay  beyond  those  dim,  distant 
mountains,  lay  more  than  three  hundred  miles 
away.  Twelve  days  of  travel,  if  one  could  spend 
more  for  an  animal  than  the  cost  of  a  year  in  the 
Great  City,  and  if  one  rode  hard  every  day !  From 
two  weeks  to  a  month  by  the  cheaper  and  more 


120  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

comfortable  water-route!  Pacifico,  in  that  Far 
City,  would  be  lost,  like  an  exile. 

As  she  stared,  the  Wonderful  City  revealed  it- 
self to  her  imagination.  Cathedrals  and  The 
Palace,  beside  which  the  brick  church  of  Badi  was 
a  hovel!  Streets  of  stone!  Mountainous  ships, 
against  the  sides  of  which  cascoes  were  specks 
of  dirt ! — El  Dcmgeroso  had  described  those  ocean 
vessels. — Endless  sweep  of  the  Sea !  And  wagons 
drawn  by  ponies,  instead  of  carabao-carts !  In 
that  City,  Pacifico  would  become  a  Leader!  To 
him,  the  senoritas  of  the  highest  caste  would  defer. 
Amidst  all  that  magnificence,  Pacifico  would  for- 
get his  playmate,  Emiliana.  And  then,  when  he 
had  forgotten — perhaps  his  memories  would  check 
him  until  that  time, — when  he  had  forgotten,  he 
would  choose  from  among  the  most  beautiful  and 
accomplished  of  those  cultured  senoritas  a  mate 
fitted  for  his  station  in  life. 

Emiliana  shut  her  eyes,  but  the  picture  still 
throbbed  before  her  vision.  She  folded  her  arms 
and  pressed  them  against  her  lids.  Then  her  por- 
tion in  life  presented  itself. 

She  would  grow  old  and  haggard,  and  some 
time  in  the  future,  when  Pacifico,  an  illustrious 
man,  again  visited  Badi,  he  would  fail  to  recog- 
nize in  her  his  childhood's  playmate.  She  would 
never  know  whether  it  was  because  she  had 
changed  so,  or  whether  it  was  because  she  was  so 
far  beneath  his  notice.  Perhaps  she  would  die 
then.  And  when  he  heard  of  her  death,  perhaps 


RENUNCIATION  121 

he  would  remember: — she  could  bear  it  all,  if 
Pacifico  only  cared  a  little  now. 

Some  whistler  floated  a  melody  to  her  ears. 

Emiliana  listened. 

She  glanced  at  the  sun.  As  usual,  he  was  late. 
For  a  moment,  anger  swayed  her,  and  she  clinched 
her  fists.  Then  resentment  at  the  diversions 
which  had  detained  him  swept  over  her.  They 
could  always  hold  him  from  her!  But  yet,  he 
always  came,  even  if  late.  Perhaps  he  did  care  a 
little ! 

A  test  suggested  itself.  She  sprang  into  the 
shrubbery  and  hid.  If  Pacifico  still  cared  at  all, 
he  would  remember  her  old,  childish  trick,  and 
hunt  for  her.  He  would  know  just  where  to  look 
for  her.  And  then  she  could  bear  it  all ! 

Pacifico  went  to  the  place  where  she  had  been. 
Not  finding  her  there,  he  went  to  the  door  and 
asked  for  her.  Gestures  are  expressive.  So  is  the 
sudden  shrinkage  of  a  pair  of  broad  young  shoul- 
ders. Emiliana  knew  just  when  her  mother  said, 
"She  went  out  an  hour  ago."  Pacifico  returned 
to  their  accustomed  haunt. 

Her  lips  parted,  breathing  deeply,  expectantly, 
Emiliana  watched  him.  The  puzzled  frown  on  his 
face  amused  her. 

But  the  young  man  only  stood  in  the  one  place, 
searched  everywhere  with  his  eyes,  and  called 
her. 

Emiliana  held  her  lips  between  her  teeth,  lest 
she  answer  his  hail.  She  never  knew  how  long 


122  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

she  waited  for  him  to  begin  his  search;  she  only 
remembered  that  he  never  began  it,  that  he  merely 
paced  back  and  forth  for  a  while,  and  left. 

For  a  moment,  Emiliana  sobbed.  But  hurt 
pride  calmed  her.  He  wasn't  even  grateful  to  her 
for  submitting  to  the  boredom  of  his  rhapsodies 
upon  his  interests!  With  pride  as  her  ally,  she 
could  forget.  And  there  were  suitors  who  would 
welcome  an  opportunity  to  pay  her  attentions! 
Nevertheless,  a  lingering  tear  or  two  blinded  her 
to  the  dejected  droop  of  the  retreating  shoulders. 

Next  day,  Pacifico  found  Emiliana  entertaining 
Ardelardo  at  the  hour  which  was  supposedly  re- 
served for  him,  his  only  hour  of  freedom  during 
the  day.  Though  he  disliked  the  accident,  though 
he  resented  Ardelardo 's  assurance,  though  Emi- 
liana was  unusually  spirited  and  exerted  herself 
to  amuse  her  chance  guest,  he  thought  nothing  of 
the  occurrence.  But  when  he  found  Ardelardo 
there  again  next  day,  he  wondered.  And  when  on 
the  third  day,  Emiliana  refused  him  an  opportu- 
nity for  a  word  alone,  he  was  puzzled.  After  that, 
he  began  to  worry  about  it.  At  the  end  of  a  month, 
his  anxiety  led  him  to  risk  El  Dangeroso's  best 
efforts  at  teasing.  And  El  Dangeroso  could  tease, 
deliciously  so  for  the  onlooker,  terrifyingly  for 
him  who  endured  it. 

Pacifico  meant  to  evade  any  discussion  of  his 
trouble.  He  hoped  to  acquire  a  supply  of  useful 
information  from  the  Source  of  Wisdom  by  means 
of  apt  queries,  and  chose  a  time  when  El  Dange- 


RENUNCIATION  123 

roso  could  not  fix  his  whole  attention  on  an  in- 
quisitor. The  white  man  was  shaving.  Pacifico 
carefully  considered  several  questions  which 
might  imply  a  desire  for  knowledge. 

"Is  Emiliana  a  Brown  American?"  he  casually 
remarked. 

El  Dangeroso  stared  into  the  mirror,  while  the 
razor  swept  away  a  swath  of  soap. 

"Hunhf"  he  grunted.  "Oh,  about  Emiliana. 
Sure  she  is.  Some  brains  there." 

He  laid  down  the  razor,  and  turned  the  bureau 
so  that  the  light  fell  squarely  on  his  face. 

Pacifico  sighed  his  thankfulness.  El  Dangeroso 
would  be  able  to  interpret  the  whims  of  an  Ameri- 
can girl.  Pacifico  puzzled  so  intently  over  the 
wording  of  his  next  comment  that  he  failed  to  no- 
tice the  peculiar  little  glance  which  his  sigh  had 
won. 

"Emiliana  is  the  kind  of  a  girl  a  fellow  ought 
to  hang  on  to,"  the  white  man  volunteered,  as  he 
stropped  his  razor. 

Suspiciously,  Pacifico  studied  a  most  innocent 
countenance. 

"What  is  the  'Custom*  that  American  girls 
follow  when  their  friends  visit  them!" 

El  Dangeroso  ought  to  have  understood  that 
Pacifico  realized  the  desirability  of  observing  the 
"American  Custom"  when  visiting  an  American 
girl.  He  ought  to  have  explained  it.  Instead,  he 
dropped  the  razor  on  the  table,  and  whistled. 

"So  that  is  the  trouble!"  he  exclaimed.     "I 


124  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

wondered  why  your  school  work  was  falling  off 
so.  Come,  kid,  out  with  the  tale  of  woe.  What 
has  Emiliana  been  doing  to  you?" 

Pacifico  hung  his  head,  and  maintained  rigid 
silence. 

Nevertheless,  El  Dangeroso  quickly  had  the 
story.  The  lad's  answers  to  a  few  shrewd  ques- 
tions coupled  with  the  surmises  that  the  boy  did 
not  deny,  revealed  the  state  of  affairs.  As  the 
man's  serious  mien  and  sympathy  assured  Paci- 
fico that  El  Dangeroso  would  not  resort  to  his 
frequently  jocular  attitude,  the  lad  talked,  frankly 
but  haltingly. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  girls,  sonny,  but  I 
think  it  looks  as  though  she  was  teaching  you 
some  lesson.  And  I  don't  know  what  the  lesson 
is,  but  if  I  were  you,  I  would  learn  it  in  double 
time,"  he  advised.  " Suppose  you  try  to  remem- 
ber what  you  have  done  that  needs  a  lesson." 

Pacifico  pondered  for  a  week,  experimented  with 
many  suppositions,  and  despaired.  About  the 
time  he  gave  up  hope,  he  observed  Emiliana 's  very 
evident  pleasure  in  the  little  gifts,  just  tokens  of 
esteem,  which  Ardelardo  and  Pedro  and  Panfilo 
and  other  boys  presented  to  her.  As  a  similar 
evidence  of  regard  might  bring  a  solution,  he 
planned  a  gift  that  should  surpass  any  of  theirs 
in  being  appropriate  to  her  charms.  That  noon 
he  asked  El  Dangeroso  for  a  box  of  talcum  pow- 
der. 

The  American  quizzed  the  lad. 


RENUNCIATION  125 

"Emiliana  is  a  little  lady,  kid,  and  I  don't  think 
she  will  wear  a  false  complexion.  Better  think  it 
over  carefully."  Remembering  that  she  was  a 
Filipino,  he  hesitated.  "But  I  don't  know  how 
she  would  take  it.  If  you  are  dead  sure  it  will  be 
all  right,  go  ahead.  But  BE  dead  sure,"  he  em- 
phatically warned. 

Pacifico  was  certain.  Any  girl  of  his  acquaint- 
ance would  be  overjoyed  with  such  a  gift.  It 
would  mean  for  her  the  ability  to  appear  on  holi- 
days and  Sundays  with  "a  complexion  like  a 
Spaniard's,"  to  vie  with  the  town's  wealthiest 
beauties.  Emiliana  was  too  poor  to  enjoy  that 
pleasure.  In  imagination,  Pacifico  gloated  over 
the  sensation  her  wonderful,  sensitive,  expressive 
features  would  create  when  properly  powdered. 
He  presented  the  gift  with  the  prettiest  speech  he 
had  ever  made  her. 

''For  the  face  whose  beauty  the  'complexion  of 
a  Spaniard'  cannot  enhance." 

Ardelardo  fidgeted  uneasily.  Jealous  envy  of 
the  donor's  triumph  possessed  him. 

Pacifico  saw,  because  his  eyes  were  not  on  Emi- 
liana, and  exultation  thrilled  him. 

For  just  a  second  the  girl  stared  at  her  child- 
hood chum.  Then  she  took  the  gift  from  his  out- 
stretched hand.  A  strange  smile,  such  a  smile  of 
comprehension  as  no  man  ever  fully  fathomed, 
tinged  her  face  with  sadness.  She  sprinkled  the 
powder  upon  her  hand,  smeared  it  over  her  palm, 


126  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

and  gazed  at  the  effect.  Then  .she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  laughed. 

"Take  it,"  she  commanded. 

Mechanically  Pacifico  obeyed.  What  else  he 
did,  heard,  or  said  in  the  next  minute,  he  never 
could  remember. 

Ardelardo  reached  an  erroneous  conclusion.  He 
assumed  that  Emiliana  would  accept  assistance 
from  another  in  punishing  the  offender. 

"The  poor  lunatic  cannot  see  the  insult  in  im- 
plying that  your  wonderful  complexion  needs  pow- 
der to  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  Spaniard's," 
he  sneered.  "He  even  disgraces  himself  in  school 
with  his  foolish  answers  to  the  maestro' s  ques- 
tions." 

Emiliana  surprised  Ardelardo;  she  promptly, 
firmly  banished  him.  Then  she  turned  on  Paci- 
fico. 

"  'Hard-head,'  you!"  she  stormed.  "Helpless 
infant !  Why  must  you  shame  me  so  f  Disgracing 
yourself  in  school!  And  I  must  hear  such  pigs 
ridicule  you ! ' '  she  mourned. 

The  familiar,  motherly  tone  of  her  lecture 
aroused  Pacifico  from  the  stupor  of  his  pain. 

"Why I"  he  pleaded. 

Emiliana  understood  him.  But  she  did  not 
mean  to  explain  her  action.  She  couldn't.  She 
had  not  had  time  to  explain  to  herself  the  sudden 
collapse  of  her  resolution,  the  instantaneous 
change  in  her  attitude  toward  him  from  the  new 
to  the  old.  She  only  knew  that  something  was 


EENUNCIATION  127 

fearfully  wrong  with  Pacifico  when  he  failed  in 
his  lessons,  that  she  was  going  to  learn  the  trou- 
ble, that  she  had  resented  Ardelardo's  sneer,  that 
Pacifico  would  misunderstand  any  immediate  ef- 
fort to  show  him  how  ridiculous  powder  on  her 
face  would  make  her. 

"What  have  you  done  in  school?"  she  demand- 
ed. 

Pacifico  merely  stared  at  her. 

She  stamped  her  foot. 

"Why  don't  you  talk?"  she  petulantly  inquired. 
But  that  mood  exposed  her  to  the  true  weakness 
of  her  own  resolution,  and  she  assumed  an  impe- 
rious air.  "Tell  me,"  she  commanded. 

But  Pacifico 's  wounded  feelings,  unassuaged, 
deafened  him  to  all  words  but  such  as  would  ex- 
plain her  cruelty. 

"Why?"  he  begged. 

Emiliana  had  had  another  moment  to  think,  to 
adjust  her  mental  powers.  She  was  gentle  to  him. 

"Crazy  one!"  she  reproved.  "If  I  accepted 
your  valuable  gift  in  the  presence  of  another,  and 
afterwards  refused  his,  when  as  publicly  given?" 

Pacifico  appreciated  the  girl's  terror  of  scan- 
dal. That  possibility  excused  everything.  He 
held  out  to  her  the  gift  she  had  spurned,  and  in 
his  manner,  its  suggestion  of  waiting  upon  her 
will,  in  the  poise  of  his  head,  in  the  suppressed 
power  of  his  voice,  was  the  force  of  a  simple, 
compelling  dignity. 


128  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"You  will  take  it  now,  and  forgive  my  thought- 
lessness," he  apologized. 

Emiliana  hesitated.  Then  she  accepted  his  use- 
less gift. 

"Tell  me." 

He  skipped  over  the  results  back  to  the  cause 
of  it  all,  back  to  the  source  of  his  heart-ache.  He 
steadied  the  tremor  of  his  lips,  conquered  the 
paralysis  of  his  throat. 

"I  have  missed  you." 

To  Emiliana,  it  seeemd  that  the  hot  March  wind 
died  away,  that  the  humid  mist  faded,  that  all 
green  life  was  budding,  not  already  hardy  and 
strong  in  maturity;  the  Great  Magician  had 
brought  back  the  glory  of  a  February  day  with 
no  sad  suggestion  in  it.  Pacifico  had  missed  her ! 
He  cared.  He  would  even  tell  her  of  his  love, 
if  she  gave  him  the  opportunity !  Let  him  detect 
the  tenderness  in  her  voice! 

"Missed  me?  But  you  have  seen  me  every- 
day," she  puzzled. 

From  Pacifico 's  standpoint,  to  see  Emiliana 
meant  to  have  her  alone.  He  promptly  made  the 
distinction  clear. 

"Could  I  talk  to  you  about  a  single  thing  of 
interest  with  Ardelardo  always  here?  And  I 
asked  you  one  day  not  to  have  him  the  next! 
But  you  refused,"  he  complained. 

Emiliana  had  seen  poor  old  Maria,  the  bino 
fiend,  the  town  gambler,  stake  her  last  copper 
clacker  on  a  deal  of  monte.  She  had  seen  the 


RENUNCIATION  129 

cards  turned  without  deciding  the  issue  until  but 
three  were  left.  The  agonized  conflict  on  Maria's 
face  between  fear  and  hope  had  wrung  a  sob  from 
Emiliana,  and  the  child  had  prayed  that  the  next 
card  would  be  one  of  the  two  winners,  not  the  sin- 
gle loser.  Emiliana  had  seen  the  old  hag's  despair 
when  the  losing  card  turned.  Though  the  woman 
always  staggered  away,  she  never  wailed  nor 
whimpered.  Neither  did  Emiliana  now  betray 
her  emotions  by  even  so  much  as  the  moistening 
flicker  of  an  eyelash,  though  she  had  just  learned 
how  Maria  had  felt; — Pacifico  loved  his  amuse- 
ments, his  "  boxing"  and  "shooting"  and 
' '  Laws. ' '  He  missed  the  pleasure  of  talking  about 
their  attractions  for  him.  Listlessly,  the  girl 
turned  to  the  lad.  Nothing  in  her  quiet  face  re- 
vealed her  pain.  But  if  Pacifico  had  been  versed 
in  the  smiles  of  girls,  he  would  have  found  in  hers 
the  sadness  of  realization. 

Emiliana  opened  the  discussion. 

"I  can  see  the  reason  in  spending  time  on  the 
'Laws.'  And  even  on  practise  in  shooting  a 
gun,"  she  remarked.  "But  what  is  the  sense  in 
the  crazy  jumping  and  hopping  and  flinging  of 
arms  which  takes  most  of  your  time  ?  Dancing  is 
more  enjoyable.  And  then  you  might  use  that 
time  for  reading  the  books  I  like  best." 

The  familiar  protest  against  his  interest  in  the 
occupations  so  essential  for  his  preparation  to 
succeed  El  Dangeroso,  restored  in  large  measure 
Pacifico 's  confidence  and  belief  in  Emiliana 's  re- 


130  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

turn  to  the  old  order.  He  promptly  advanced 
El  Dangeroso's  argument  for  boxing,  the  argu- 
ment which  in  the  beginning  of  the  lessons  had 
overcome  his  own  objections  to  being  hit  in  the 
face  and  to  tumbling  involuntarily  and  forcibly 
on  the  floor. 

"The  art  of  boxing  makes  Americans  and  the 
British  superior  to  Spaniards  and  googoos.  A 
googoo  without  a  bolo,  or  a  Spaniard  without  a 
rapier,  is  helpless,  but  an  American  is  never  with- 
out his  fists.  If  your  enemy  does  get  you  at  a 
disadvantage,  one  good  punch  is  enough  for  the 
kind  of  assassins  a  man  runs  into  over  here.  If 
I  am  to  become  the  'new  El  Danger oso  of  Badi,' 
I  must  be  an  American  in  every  way  and  '  carry 
a  punch  in  either  fist.'  Oh,  you  will  see,"  he 
boasted. 

In  that  reply,  Emiliana  saw  neither  the  slight- 
est thought  for  the  interests  to  which  she  was  lim- 
ited, nor  a  willingness  to  sacrifice  his  pleasure  and 
convenience  for  her  as  she  sacrificed  hers  for  him. 
But  nevertheless,  what  his  ambition  suggested, 
always  sent  a  real  shiver  of  fear  through  her. 
It  still  did.  She  could  feel,  in  imagination,  all 
the  tortures  that  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel 
Lasam  would  inflict  on  any  Filipino,  especially 
on  an  ignorante,  who  dared  to  interfere  as  the 
real  El  Dangeroso  did.  And  because  she  still  felt 
that  fear  for  the  lad,  her  hand  involuntarily 
clutched  his  arm,  and  she  pleaded  with  him. 


RENUNCIATION  131 

"You  will  give  it  up?"  she  begged.  "El  Dan- 
geroso  is  a  white  man.  I  know  and  you  know 
that  terror  of  the  American's  white  skin  charms 
Senor  Lasam  into  abject  helplessness,  as  the  py- 
thon charms  the  wild  boar.  That  is  why  our  presi- 
dente  fears  to  avenge  El  Dangeroso's  suppression 
of  tyranny  in  Badi;  he  fears  the  White-Skinned 
Recklessness.  But  your  skin  is  brown,  boy." 

Pacifico  shook  his  arm  free  from  the  restraint 
of  her  hand,  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  an  American,"  he  retorted.  "I  know 
the  American  Laws,  and  I  shall  know  them  bet- 
ter. I  shall  know  them  as  well  as  El  Dangeroso. 
Senor  Lasam  fears  him  who  knows  the  Laws  and 
bends  before  such  wisdom.  Think  of  all  the  times 
he  has  shown  his  fear  of  knowledge,  all  the  times 
when  El  Dangeroso  merely  told  him  the  Law. 
Have  you  forgotten  that  time  long  ago  when  Senor 
Lasam  ordered  us  out  of  school, — and  then  or- 
dered us  back  again?  El  Dangeroso  only  told  him 
the  Law,"  he  claimed. 

Becoming  enthused  with  his  argument,  Pacifico 
talked  to  a  Silent  Dreamer,  who  weighed  and 
balanced  all  the  phases  of  the  lesson  she  had 
learned  that  day.  At  last  he,  too,  dreamed.  But 
he  did  not  tell  the  girl  of  what. 

"To-morrow,  I  shall  see  you  again?"  he  asked 
on  leaving. 

She  nodded. 

"And  without  Ardelardo?"  he  begged. 


132  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"He  will  come,  and  it  will  be  awkward  to  send 
him  away." 

Her  perversity  alarmed  Pacifico. 

*  *  But  if  he  is  here,  we  cannot  talk  about  all  the 
interesting  things.  It  is  just  we  two  that  can 
talk  about  them.  If  any  one  else  heard  us,  and 
Ardelardo  knows  enough  English  to  understand, 
everybody  would  know.  We  have  always  talked 
about  them  in  English  so  that  they  would  belong 
to  us,"  the  lad  remonstrated. 

Emiliana  smiled  wistfully.  They  belonged — to 
him,  not  to  her ;  to  his  life  and  to  his  future,  not 
to  hers.  But  while  he  had  talked,  too  interested 
in  his  own  argument  to  become  conscious  of  her 
abstraction,  the  girl  had  reached  a  conclusion,  a 
tentative  conclusion  that  she  might  change  upon 
further  consideration,  but  a  conclusion  definite 
enough  to  .decide  her  immediate  action. 

' '  Secrets  ? ' '  she  enthused.  For  a  second,  she  hid 
her  eyes,  while  she  brushed  away  two  stray  tears. 
With  the  tears,  she  brushed  aside  every  sugges- 
tion of  the  blessed  sweetness  in  the  word,  secrets. 
"Secrets  in  English?" 

Pacifico  laughed  in  his  own,  old,  boyish,  confi- 
dent, happy  way. 

"And  without  Ardelardo?"  he  repeated. 

Emiliana  was  not  ready  to  close  finally  the 
road  of  escape  should  her  future  deliberations 
lead  to  a  reversal  of  her  present  intention. 

"Perhaps,"  she  conceded.  And  "perhaps" 
was  all  she  would  grant  him. 


RENUNCIATION  133 

After  he  had  gone,  Emiliana  made  her  choice 
between  the  two  inevitable  alternatives  which  her 
woman's  instinct  outlined  in  the  minutest  detail. 

Love  of  herself  pointed  out  the  advisability  of 
continuing  her  present  policy,  of  receiving  the  at- 
tentions of  many  suitors  for  a  while,  of  denying 
Pacifico  any  opportunity  to  talk  to  her.  It  had 
proved  more  than  the  means  to  forget,  which  she 
had  planned  it  to  be.  Without  her  support  and 
encouragement,  without  the  confidence  which  he 
gained  from  talking  to  her,  with  doubt  and  uncer- 
tainty constantly  filling  his  thoughts,  his  ambition 
would  be  destroyed  by  his  own  fears,  his  scholar- 
ship would  fall  away,  and  she  would  catch  up  with 
him.  Perhaps  they  would  both  go  to  the  Provin- 
cial High  School,  and  she  would  win  more  of  him 
than  she  had  ever  had.  Or  perhaps  he  would  sink 
back  into  what  he  had  been,  and  become  another 
Pio,  yet  different,  bigger,  better; — and  then  he 
would  be  ALL  hers.  The  prospect  thrilled  her. 

But  at  last,  she  stared  southward  again  toward 
Manila,  toward  the  Wonderful  City  of  beautiful 
senoritas  who  would  fascinate  him,  toward  that 
exile  from  which  he  would  never  return  to  her. 
And  for  the  alternative,  to  buy  him  such  a  Future, 
she  would  have  to  listen  with  laughter  and  bril- 
liant gaiety  and  enthusiasm  to  "  Secrets "  that 
would  constantly  remind  her  of  their  price,  while 
anguish  of  heart  and  despair,  that  should  make 
her  prematurely  old,  stabbed  her. 


134  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Emiliana  buried  her  face  in  her  arms,  and  cried. ' 
But  an  hour  later,  when  her  mother's  scolding, 
upbraiding  voice  called  her,  she  had  decided : — She 
loved  Pacifico  better  than  herself. 

Emiliana  was  glad  that  Pacifico  did  not  sus- 
pect,— because  his  blindness  made  the  Price  less 
than  it  might  have  been.  Yet  El  Dangeroso's 
comprehension  pleased  her,  for  that,  too,  made 
everything  easier. 


CHAPTER 

THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH 

fTlHE  catastrophe  began  during  the  vacation, 
JL     while  Senor  El  Dangeroso  was  supposed  to 
be  in  Manila.    But  its  causes  were  traceable  to 
Emiliana's  perversity  in  flirting  with  Panfilo. 

The  high  caste,  young  principale  resented  the 
public  ridicule  heaped  upon  him  because  of  her 
preference  for  the  common  ignorante,  Pacifico. 
Perhaps,  if  Senor  El  Dangeroso  had  remained 
in  Badi  over  the  vacation,  the  lad,  like  his  uncle, 
would  have  only  groaned  at  such  an  insult  from 
an  ignorante  girl.  But  his  offended  pride  demand- 
ed a  spectacular,  public  display  of  his  triumph 
over  Pacifico.  He  sought  it.  At  the  Town-Meet- 
ing on  Sunday  morning,  he  offered  her  a  distinc- 
tion so  great  that  he  could  conceive  of  no  igno- 
rante maid  refusing  it ;  he  offered  to  make  her  his 
querida.  Emiliana  slapped  his  face  and  sneered 
at  that  "Custom,"  while  Pacifico  fought  with 
his  fists,  like  a  mad  American,  until  the  Policia 
entangled  him  in  a  net. 

In  revenge  for  Pacifico 's  blows  on  the  illustrious 
young  man 's  nose  and  eyes,  in  retaliation  for  the 
girl's  taunts,  the  enraged  youth  found  satisfac- 

185 


136  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

tion  in  wrapping  his  hand  in  her  long  hair  and  in 
dragging  her  after  him. 

Then  it  happened. 

From  the  heavens,  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
from  the  mist,  from  the  heart  of  the  mob,  from 
somewhere,  El  Dangeroso  appeared.  His  bejuco 
snapped,  and  curled  its  heart  of  steel  and  its  braid- 
ed deer-thong  binding  around  Panfilo's  hand,  and 
stung  and  burned  a  welt  like  the  trail  of  a  centi- 
pede on  human  flesh. 

Panfilo  screamed,  while  Senor  Presidente  pro- 
tested furiously  and  in  the  name  of  " Custom" 
against  the  unheard-of  insult  involved  in  thus 
publicly  lashing  a  principale. 

El  Dangeroso  laughed,  but  there  was  no  mirth 
in  the  eyes  that  bored  through  uncle  and  nephew. 
With  much  scolding,  he  continued  with  his  illus- 
tration of  the  "American  Custom"  of  spanking 
naughty  boys, — and  thereby  established  a  new 
"Myth"  in  Badi; — of  how  a  principale  suffered 
humiliation  on  account  of  an  ignorante  woman. 

That  evening,  Pacifico  expressed  a  fear  of  the 
consequences. 

"This  was  different  from  anything  else  you 
have  done  in  Badi,  sir,"  he  stated.  "You  see, 
Emiliana  is  only  a  woman,  and  so  it  wasn't  blow 
for  blow." 

El  Dangeroso  dropped  his  pen,  shoved  his  letter 
aside  and  stared  at  his  servant. 

"Googoo!"  he  sneered.  "It  was  worse  than  a 
blow.  And  say,  kid,  I  thought  I  had  knocked  the 


THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH          137 

last  of  that  Googoo  stuff*  out  of  your  head.  But 
maybe  you  need  a  little  bejuco  medicine  yourself," 
he  suggested. 

Pacifico  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"But  it  is  different,"  he  insisted.  "Senor  La- 
sam  will  have  to  do  something  to  restore  the  Fam- 
ily Prestige." 

" Don't  you  worry,  kid,  I'll  take  care  of  that 
'family  prestige,'  "  the  American  joked,  "and  his 
Porcininity  knows  it." 

Pacifico  laid  down  the  shoe-brush,  and  glanced 
up  at  his  benefactor. 

"Perhaps  now  Senor  Lasana  will  exert  his  full 
power  to  get  revenge,"  he  warned.  "Oh,  sir,  if 
you  would  only  wear  some  'Charm!'  "  he  begged. 
"A  crocodile's  tooth  above  the  heart  is  best  for 
the  'Evil-Eye,'  but  a  ring  made  from  its  jaw-bone 
is  very  good,  if  worn  on  the  thumb." 

El  Dangeroso  banished  from  his  voice  its  habit- 
ual tone  of  mockery. 

"Well,  sonny!"  he  soothed.  "Now  suppose — 
just  for  the  sake  of  argument,  you  know — suppose 
I  wanted  a  crocodile's  tooth.  Where  would  I  get 
one?  Go  out  and  shoot  a  caiman,  and  play  den- 
tist!" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  senor,"  Pacifico  implored.  "Not 
to  do  zat!  One  must  find  the  crocodile's  head  on 
the  shore,  sir,  for  the  Father  of  Waters  pursues 
and  punishes  with  a  Spell  of  Bad  Luck,  him  who 
injures  the  Sacred  Reptile.  The  Father  of  Wa- 
ters sends  cholera,  and  diseases." 


138  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"That  is  just  it.  If  I'm  badly  off  without  the 
tooth,  I  would  be  in  a  worse  fix  if  I  killed  a  croco- 
dile to  get  one.  So  let's  forget  the  trouble." 

Pacifico  puzzled  over  the  predicament.  His 
hand  slipped  into  his  shirt,  and  gradually  crept  up 
the  string  of  his  own  crocodile's  tooth.  For  a 
moment,  his  fingers  fluttered  hesitantly  about  the 
knot  But  El  Dangeroso's  danger  was  not  press- 
ing. He  sighed,  and  fell  to  dreaming  of  all  the 
evils  from  which  that  "Charm"  had  shielded  him 
since  his  mother  had  tied  it  on  him  at  his  birth. 
Smallpox !  The  Curse  of  God !  Cholera !  Pacifi- 
co  shivered.  And  she  would  suffer  from  her  Vis- 
ions, if  he  gave  it  away,  even  though  the  Ameri- 
can's ridicule  were  justified,  and  it  were  all  a 
superstition. 

"But  the  Father  of  "Waters  does  send  cholera," 
Pacifico  argued. 

"If  I'm  fool  enough  to  drink  river- water  with- 
out boiling  it,"  the  man  agreed.  "But  I've  got 
*  Charms'  in  my  medicine-chest  that  would  be  steel- 
spurs  in  the  cock-pit  when  your  'Tooth'  is  a  horny 
stub.  And  for  a '  Charm'  against  the  ' Evil  Eye, '  or 
'Curses,'  or  plots" — he  leaned  forward,  took  his 
bejuco  from  the  table,  and  shook  it  before  his  own 
admiring  eyes, — "give  me  THIS.  Did  you  ever 
see  any  other  'Charm'  work  the  'Spells'  you've 
seen  this  work?  No,  sir.  And" — tapping  his 
belt — "here  is  something  that  charms  the  fear  of 
the  devil  into  a  principale's  heart.  Quit  worrying 
about  me,  sonny.  I'm  loaded  with  'Charms.'  " 


THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH          139 

Nevertheless,  Pacifico's  nervousness  proved  it- 
self well  justified.  Senor  Lasam  found  an  oppor- 
tunity for  agitation  against  the  American  during 
a  batte  in  honor  of  his  birthday;  and  a  possible 
agent  of  vengeance  in  his  guest,  Senor  Provincial 
Governor. 

"The  Senor  Maestro  is  impossible,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Senor  Excelenzia  Basig.  "He  defies 
our  '  Customs. '  He  undermines  our  influence  with 
the  laborers.  He  would  even  assume  our  position 
in  their  regard.  And  can  you  believe  it?  He 
teaches  ignorcmtes  to  consider  themselves  our 
equals;  he  preferred  the  ignorante,  Pacifico  Ba- 
liuag,  to  my  nephew,  Panfilo,  for  his  muchacho, 
and  now  he  makes  a  companion  of  his  low-caste 
servant. ' ' 

The  memory  of  the  last  few  days  drew  deeper 
furrows  on  his  brow.  His  ponderous,  pompous 
pacing  up  and  down  the  balcony  of  his  home  shook 
the  whole  building. 

"I  have  ignored  his  affronts,  all  of  them,  Senor 
Excelenzia,"  he  declared,  "but  this  last  one  I  can- 
not pass  over;  it  is  a  deadly  personal  insult,  and 
the  whole  town  is  laughing  at  my  nephew!  But 
just  let  ME  hear  them!"  he  ejaculated.  "What 
did  the  'Pig  of  an  American*  do?  Jesu,  Santa 
Maria,  y  Josep!  Have  you  not  heard  of  that  un- 
pardonable insult?  NO?  He  whipped  my  nephew 
LIKE  AN  IGNORANTE  because  the  boy  would 
make  a  laborer's  daughter  his  mistress.  The 


140  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

devil!  What  better  fortune  could  befall  the 
woman ?  The  crazy  American  Pig ! ' ' 

But  Senor  Lasam 's  resentment,  his  desire  to 
present  a  strong  case  against  the  hated  American, 
was  not  great  enough  to  betray  him  into  the  error 
of  mentioning  any  of  the  numerous  episodes  in 
which  he  himself  had  suffered  ignominious  treat- 
ment; he  had  no  wish  to  remind  his  friends,  to 
become  again  the  butt  of  their  ridicule. 

Senor  Excelenzia  was  sympathetic,  but  Senor 
Caronan,  Presidente  of  Mapia,  objected  to  the  pro- 
posed program. 

"The  Provincial  Officials  may  need  the  force 
of  the  'Unanimous  Accusation'  in  some  matter  of 
vital  importance,*'  he  protested.  "To  use  such  a 
reclama  now  in  this  insignifiant  affair  will  lessen 
its  impressiveness  in  the  future,"  he  warned. 

' '  Think  of  the  insult ! ' '  Senor  Lasam  whined. 

"Panfilo  put  the  insult  upon  your  family  by 
doing  what  was  wrong,"  Senor  Caronan  insisted. 

"Only  a  laborer's  daughter,"  sneered  the  Presi- 
dente of  Badi. 

"She  objected,  is  it  not  BO?"  Senor  Caronan 
retorted. 

Senor  Lasam  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Pacencia,  senores,  pacencia,"  purred  Senor 
Excelenzia,  and  an  appropriate  silence  immedi- 
ately ended  the  discord  of  controversy.  "Pan- 
filo deserved  a  flogging;  the  *  American  Pig' 
caught  the  bungler,"  the  wise  man  decided.  "But 
we  cannot  permit  the  encouragement  of  upstarts. 


THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH          141 

No  I  Is  it  not  so?  No?  Such  a  dangerous  prece- 
dent!" 

Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  was  de- 
lighted with  the  outcome  of  his  complaint.  He 
chuckled  and  exulted  as  he  prepared  the  Official 
Protest  for  the  signatures  of  his  colleagues  in  the 
Public  Offices  of  North  Province.  Nor  was  he 
particularly  disturbed  by  the  refusal  of  such  ame- 
ricanistas  as  Senor  Caronan  to  sign  the  reclama. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Pacifico,  upon  returning 
from  his  next  weekly  visit  home,  walked  into  a 
scene  of  confusion.  Broken  boxes  littered  the 
floor,  and  everything  was  packed.  The  American 
lounged  against  the  pile  of  trunks  and  cases,  and 
frowned; — and  puffed  his  pipe,  slowly,  continu- 
ously, methodically. 

Pacifico  preferred  a  good  cigar,  and  the  Ameri- 
can's poor  taste  puzzled  him.  But  the  pipe,  like 
a  barometer,  always  indicated  the  white  man's 
moods.  Perhaps  that  was  due  to  the  vigor  with 
which  his  teeth  clenched  the  stem,  and  to  the  set 
curve  of  his  lips.  Pacifico  studied  the  pipe  criti- 
cally, and  found  the  reading  to  be : — ' '  Change ; — 
Stormy,  to  Settled  Fight."  And  the  atmosphere 
was  one  of  foreboding. 

11  Something  is  wrong?"  the  lad  faltered. 

El  Dangeroso's  lips  barely  parted  to  emit  the 
laconic  snap,  "A  Complaint," — and  an  accom- 
panying puff  of  smoke  that  shot  up  from  the  bowl 
of  the  pipe. 


142  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Jesu-u-u!"  Pacifico  exclaimed.  So  Senor 
Presidente  and  the  principales  were,  after  all, 
more  powerful  than  El  Dangeroso!  That  one 
word,  "Reclama,"  explained  it  all.  The  princi- 
pales had  revived  the  old  " Custom"  of  Spanish 
Times.  Such  a  Charge  of  Officiousness,  with  the 
signature  of  every  native  Official  in  the  Province 
attached,  had  always  secured  the  removal  of  a  too 
efficient  Government  Agent! 

Then  Pacifico  looked  into  the  Future,  and  saw 
the  long  line  of  endless  retaliations  that  would 
come,  of  tyrannies  upon  tyrannies,  until  the  Vision 
became  unbearable. 

"The  Government  at  Manila  is  unfair!"  he 
cried  out  in  protest. 

El  Dangeroso  laughed. 

"At  first,  I  said,  'Damn  the  Googoo-Lover,' — 
with  all  due  respect  to  the  'Chief  at  Manila 
for  hiking  a  white  man  on  the  word  of  googoos 
and  without  a  hearing.  But  what  is  the  use! 
It  is  settled;  as  I  haven't  'succeeded  in  reaching 
the  people  in  four  years,  I  am  impossible  for  this 
Province'; — the  'unanimous  consensus  of  intelli- 
gent opinion  agrees  to  that.'  I  am  'moved  to  a 
sphere  of  possible  usefulness,  while  a  less  objec- 
tionable person  will  be  sent  here.'  And  'the  Gov- 
ernment hopes  that  this  experience  will  teach  me 
to  confine  my  efforts  to  my  Official  Duties.'  And 
so  everybody  who  can  make  a  noise  ought  to  be 
happy.  What  I  am  worth  to  the  ignorantes  of 


THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH          143 

Badi  doesn't  matter,"  he  growled:  "Mr.  Igno- 
rante  can't  squeal." 

The  last  of  hope  oozed  from  the  lad's  counte- 
nance, and  his  whole  bearing  wilted  into  one  of 
despair.  But  El  Dangeroso  did  not  see.  The 
white  man's  scowl  faded  into  a  smile,  a  lingering, 
caressing,  contemplative  smile, — and  a  mischiev- 
ous gleam  in  his  blue  eyes  betokened  a  certain 
satisfaction,  a  certain  elation,  even  assurance. 

"Some  day  the  Googoo-Lover  in  Manila  may 
find  out  what  a  'hard-head'  I  am,  when  it  comes 
to  learning  some  lessons,  but — I — guess — not,"  he 
drawled.  "Me  and  Bejuco  have  been  mighty 
busy ; — paying  our  farewell  respects  to  our  prvnci- 
pale  friends.  We  left  our  'cards,'  and  I'm  think- 
ing the  gentlemen  will  tote  Bejuco' s  around — for 
a  couple  of  weeks,  at  least, — even  if  they  should 
forget  my  promises.  Senor  Presidente  was  very 
chesty,  very  condescending, — like  a  fighting-cock 
that  has  just  won  his  combate  in  the  cock-pit, — 
and  so  sorry  to  lose  us.  Of  course,  it  is  contrary 
to  the  Googoo  'Rules  of  the  Game,' — but  we  pre- 
sented his  Corpulency  with  stacks  of  good  advice 
and  a  lambasting  that  ought  to  keep  him  in  bed 
for  a  week.  I  didn't  tell  him  why;  but  he  seemed 
to  know.  He  won't  forget.  And  he  knows  what 
I'll  do  to  him  when  I  get  back,  if  he  doesn't  be- 
have himself;  I  did  tell  him  that.  And  I  rather 
think  he  will  figure  on  what  will  happen  to  him, 
if  he  reports  to  Manila,  for  he  didn't  expect  such 
an  aftermath  as  this  to  follow  his  'redama.'  " 


144  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pacifico  shook  his  head  despondently.  He  was 
interested  in  Badi,  not  in  what  the  "Chief"  at 
Manila  might  learn,  or  might  not  learn. 

"There  is  a  difference  now,  sir;  you  are  gone," 
he  reminded  his  benefactor.  "Now  Senor  La- 
sam's  courage  will  tower  very  loftily,  like  the 
cocoanut  palm,  after  this  victory  over  so  redoubt- 
able an  opponent  as  El  Dangeroso.  Oh,  if  I  had 
only  given  you  the  'Charm!'  "  he  grieved. 

The  lad's  strained  voice,  his  quivering  face,  as 
well  as  the  remorseful  wish,  revealed  the  full 
force  of  the  fear  in  his  agitation.  El  Dangeroso 
understood.  The  white  man  gave  the  only  assur- 
ance he  could. 

"No,  Senor  Lasam  did  not  get  me;  the  Govern- 
ment at  Manila  just  misunderstood.  Senor  Pres- 
idente  hasn't  made  a  real  gain,  and  he  knows  it. 
As  he  is  a  REAL  Googoo,  and  I  showed  him  I 
wasn't  afraid  of  him,  he  will  decide  it  is  policy 
to  be  afraid  of  me.  And  you  know  how  that  is. 
I  was  thinking  of  you  when  I  fixed  him.  Besides, 
as  soon  as  I  am  clear  of  this  muss,  you  are  going 
to 'The  States' with  me." 

The  boy  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  laid 
his  forehead  against  an  arm.  Somehow,  he  sensed 
that  events  would  so  shape  themselves  that  El 
Dangeroso  would  never  return,  that  this  would  be 
a  final  farewell.  The  big,  big  loss  smothered  all 
other  emotions,  and  he  could  not  articulate  his 
thanks  for  the  promised  opportunity; — and  be- 


THE  CROCODILE'S  TOOTH          145 

sides,  even  at  the  best,  he  would  have  given  every 
future  prospect  for  his  friend. 

Hours  later,  the  silent,  hot-eyed  lad  still  strolled 
along  the  bank  high  above  the  casco  which  bore 
his  patron,  and  rested  his  heavy  eyes  on  the  be- 
loved figure.  The  swish  of  the  down-rushing  cur- 
rent as  it  parted  from  the  bow  of  the  boat  and 
lapped  the  sides,  the  sharp,  hollow-toned  suction 
of  the  waters  as  they  climbed  the  slender  poles 
with  which  the  slow  progress  up  stream  was 
gained,  the  creak  of  the  timbers  beneath  the 
straining  feet  of  the  boatmen  plodding  in  endless 
rotation  from  bow  to  stern,  sounded  a  bitter  dirge. 
But  the  white  man's  sympathy  prompted  a  con- 
tinuous, bantering  monologue  that  comforted  the 
boy  and  dulled  the  sharp  pain  of  his  loss.  Pa- 
cifico  halted  only  when  a  mass  of  water,  piled  up 
by  a  benjl  in  the  river,  checked  the  slow  advance 
of  the  casco  against  the  stream  and  forced  the 
boatmen  to  swing  across  to  the  calm  of  the  other 
bank. 

The  lad  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he  delib- 
erately unfastened  the  string  of  his  "Charm,"  and 
with  an  air  of  renunciation,  tossed  the  Crocodile 's 
Tooth  at  the  feet  of  his  friend. 

An  hour  afterwards,  when  the  casco  had  crawled 
to  the  final  bend  in  the  river,  Pacifico  put  his 
hands,  tube-like,  to  his  mouth,  and  called  one  full- 
throated  "Adiosl"  to  the  silhouette  whose  up- 
raised arm  waved  an  army  campaign-hat. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SO  MANY  PEETTY  MABKS 

PACIFICO  sauntered  along  the  backward 
trail,  and  brooded.  He  held  no  illusions 
concerning  Senor  Lasam's  probable  action  in  the 
immediate  future.  As  he  knew '  *  Custom"  and  the 
"Game  of  Revenge, "  it  would  be  necessary  for 
Pacifico  Baliuag,  son  of  Pio  Baliuag,  who  was  a 
laborer  of  the  hills,  to  leave  school  at  once,  and 
himself  become  a  laborer  in  the  fields.  But  if  no 
more  terrible  retribution  for  his  friendship  with 
the  American  were  visited  upon  him,  he  would  be 
thankful. 

Pacifico  paused.  He  WAS  thankful; — Emili- 
ana  was  safe.  In  establishing  the  "new  Myth  of 
Badi,"  Senor  El  Dangeroso  had  secured  her  im- 
munity from  Panfilo, — for  a  time,  at  least.  And 
that,  though  it  were  but  a  respite  from  the  dan- 
ger, was  worthy  of  devout  thanks.  Senor  Lasam 
would  never  countenance  any  aggression  on  Pan- 
filo's  part  that  would  remind  the  people  of  the 
ridicule  that  the  white  man  had  heaped  upon  the 
* '  family  prestige. ' '  What  the  more  distant  future 
might  bring,  would  depend  very  largely  upon  the 
caliber  and  comprehension  of  the  new  American 
Teacher  of  Badi. 

146 


SO  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS    147 

Bnt  what  would  the  New  American  be?  If  he 
should  prove  another  El  Dangeroso,  or  even  one 
like  Senor  del  Monte,  the  new  Teacher  at  the 
Mountain  Town,  who  dared,  Report  and  Ru- 
mor said,  then  all  would  be  well  with  the 
ignorantes.  But  if,  like  the  Coward  of  Dacal,  he 
should  accept  many  gifts  of  chicken  and  eggs, 
there  would  be  no  limits  to  the  tyrannies  of  the 
principales, — unless 

Pacifico  halted,  and  stared  at  a  vague,  flicker- 
ing Vision.  As  he  struck  the  balance  between  the 
old  factors  of  life  in  Badi,  and  the  new,  the  Pic- 
ture took  form,  a  fascinating  sweep  of  possibili- 
ties. El  Dangeroso,  the  White  American,  was 
gone;  Pacifico,  the  Brown  American,  was  left! 
And  there  would  be  many  tyrannies  in  Badi! — 
unless! — Unless  the  time  had  come,  the  time  to 
put  into  practise  the  old  childish  game  of  "the 
new  El  Dangeroso  of  Badi!"  Pacifico  appreciat- 
ed the  value  of  secrecy,  of  plots,  of  intrigues.  They 
could  make  possible  contingencies  that  publicity 
would  destroy.  If  Pacifico  had  known  the  hail 
with  which  the  French  of  monarchical  days  had 
greeted  the  death  of  one  king  and  the  ascension 
of  a  successor,  he  would  have  cried,  "El  Dange- 
roso is  dead.  Long  live  El  Dangeroso." 

It  was  night  before  the  "new  El  Dangeroso  of 
Badi,"  a  young,  square-shouldered,  determined 
Brown  American  reached  the  Landing  at  Badi. 

There  he  came  upon  a  large  crowd  of  people 
gathered  about  the  monte  game  of  Senor  Brown, 


148  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

a  well-known  itinerant  American  gambler.  Paci- 
fico  wondered  why  the  white  man  sat  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  bank  with  his  back  to  the  river,  when 
so  many  more  could  have  bet  on  the  cards  if  he 
had  dealt  them  at  some  point  where  a  full  circle 
of  people  could  have  crushed  about  the  make-shift 
table.  Although  Pacifico  had  no  money  and  could 
not  himself  enjoy  the  thrills  of  betting  upon  the 
chances  of  this  or  that  favorite  card,  he  stopped 
to  watch  the  game. 

For  a  time,  Senor  Presidente  partook  of  some 
rich  pickings  from  the  white  gambler's  wealth. 

"A  fair  deal,  a  very  fair  deal,"  he  compliment- 
ed, and  Senor  Brown  nodded  thanks  for  the  en- 
dorsement. Almost  immediately  afterwards,  Se- 
nor Lasam  made  several  exceptionally  large  con- 
tributions to  the  American's  winnings,  and  in  his 
effort  to  recover  the  loss  of  a  bag  of  pesos,  became 
a  reckless  plunger. 

From  El  Dangeroso,  Pacifico  had  heard  of  Se- 
nor Brown's  skill  in  manipulating  the  cards  to 
his  own  advantage.  Though  the  lad  could  enjoy 
Senor  Lasam 's  losses,  could  even  regard  them  as 
a  just  retribution,  he  resented  seeing  his  ignorante 
fellows  fleeced  of  their  small  savings  through  fol- 
lowing the  disastrous  example  of  their  presidente. 

* '  Fools ! "  he  chided  in  warning.  ' '  The  Ameri- 
can cheats  and  any  but  a  'hard-head*  would  know 
it." 


SO  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS          149 

Senor  Lasam  saw  in  the  comment  a  contemptu- 
ous aspersion  on  his  own  gullibility,  and  flared 
up. 

"A  very  fair  deal,"  he  promptly  reiterated. 

The  exposure  would  not  have  been  so  shameful, 
if  Senor  Brown  had  not  thrown  his  money-sack, 
his  cards,  the  table,  down  the  river-bank,  and  fol- 
lowed those  essentials  of  his  profession  to  a  safe 
retreat  upon  his  casco,  which  was  then  quickly 
shoved  out  into  mid-stream. 

Senor  Lasam  squirmed  under  the  sting  of  the 
disgrace.  The  American's  action  gave  most  con- 
clusive, most  impressive  proof  of  the  truth  of 
Pacifico's  charges.  There  could  be  no  argument 
about  it,  no  difference  of  opinion,  no  clouding  of 
the  issue  by  which  Senor  Presidente  could  save 
his  face.  In  a  final  effort  to  distract  the  people's 
attention  from  the  extent  of  that  impressiveness, 
Senor  Lasam  stood  on  the  bank  for  many  minutes, 
and  puffed  an  exchange  of  compliments  with  the 
gambler,  curse  for  curse,  taunt  for  taunt,  sneer 
for  sneer.  But  the  American,  first  having  com- 
mented upon  his  antagonist's  excessive  abdomi- 
nal girth  and  upon  certain  other  physical  pecu- 
liarities, finally  subdued  his  opponent  with  the 
apt  retort,  "The  'Pig  of  an  American'  bows  to 
Your  Illustrious  Porcininity. " 

Although  each  individual,  contemptuous  guffaw 
of  ridicule  stabbed  him,  Senor  Lasam  conducted 
his  retreat  from  the  scene  of  his  utter  humiliation 
without  the  slightest  abatement  of  his  dignity. 


150  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

But  he  realized  the  serious  nature  of  the  crisis, 
and  swore  many  lurid  threats  of  vengeance  upon 
the  officious  ignorante,  Pacifico  Baliuag. 

Next  day,  Pedro  Tallud  accused  Pacifico  Ba- 
liuag of  the  theft  of  five  pesos.  At  the  trial  before 
Senor  Justice  of  the  Peace,  Pedro  swore  that  he 
saw  the  crime  committed,  and  El  Sargento  de  Po- 
licia  swore  to  it,  and  many  others  among  Senor 
Lasam's  ignorante  henchmen  swore  to  it.  And  so 
everybody  understood. 

Pacifico  called  many  witnesses  to  prove  his  alibi, 
to  prove  that,  early  in  the  day,  he  had  set  out 
with  El  Dangeroso  and  had  not  returned  until 
night.  Juan  Danga,  Emiliana's  father,  first  took 
the  stand. 

Juan  remembered  Senor  Lasam's  mortgage 
upon  his  little  piece  of  land,  upon  his  maturing 
crop,  remembered,  too,  the  tales  El  Sargento  had 
told  him, — and  paused  before  the  irrevocable 
words  were  spoken.  His  eyes,  traveling  about  the 
room,  fastened  upon  Senor  Presidente's  impas- 
sive, ominous  mask  of  a  face.  Danga  studied  his 
toes,  fidgeted,  and  tried  to  avoid  his  master's 
eyes, — but  those  eyes  seemed  to  hunt  him.  He 
glanced  at  Pacifico,  dumbly,  pleadingly,  and 
prayed  silently  to  "Jesu,  Santa  Maria,  y  Josep" 
for  strength  to  speak  the  truth. 

Senor  Presidente  moved. 

To  Juan's  overwrought  imagination,  it  seemed 
that  Senor  Lasam  was  coming  in  terrible  might 
to  punish  him  for  his  disloyalty,  to  rob  him  of  his 


SO  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS    151 

land.  His  tongue  moistened  his  lips,  and  he  fal- 
tered his  perjured  oath.  Then  in  an  agony  of  re- 
morse, the  shriveled,  little  old  ignorante  slunk 
away. 

Angry,  disgusted,  Pacifico  glanced  after  him. 
Then  he  turned  toward  his  other  witnesses.  In 
their  shrunken  attitudes,  in  the  shame  of  their  fur- 
tive glances  and  averted  faces,  he  read  fear.  For 
a  full  minute,  Pacifico  stared.  Slowly,  his  arms 
sank  to  his  sides,  the  bright  gleam  of  anticipated 
vindication  faded  from  his  eyes  and  the  full  weight 
of  despair  settled  in  them.  He  acknowledged  the 
terror  of  the  vengeance  in  the  shadow  of  which 
he  stood. 

"As  God  wills  it,"  he  muttered,  and  subsided. 

Senor  Presidente  gave  Pedro  Tallud  a  peso, 
and  congratulated  Senor  Justice  on  the  sentence, 
"A  public  flogging." 

Pacifico  cowered.  Never  again  could  he  hold 
up  his  head  among  his  fellows!  He  tried  to 
protest,  to  claim  the  protection  of  the  American 
Law,  but  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat.  His  hand 
felt  under  his  shirt  for  the  talisman  that  was 
gone.  Perhaps  he  cursed  his  folly  for  parting  with 
that  powerful  " Charm."  Or  perhaps  he  vented 
his  despair  in  wild,  raving  denunciations  of  his 
ambition,  his  education,  his  knowledge  of  English, 
his  trust  in  the  American  Government ;  the  things 
that  had  deceived  him  into  a  hope  that  an  igno- 
rante could  escape  the  die  of  life  as  God  had  cast 
it  in  the  chance  of  birth.  Or  perhaps  an  endless 


152  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

rotation  of  mental  images, — El  Dangeroso  and 
Senor  Caronan  of  Mapia,  El  Dangeroso  and  Se- 
nor  Caronan,  the  false  friends  whose  precepts  and 
example  had  caused  his  downfall,  flitted  before 
his  eyes.  Pacifico  surrendered  his  belief  to  the 
truth  of  his  people's  axiom, — "God  has  willed 
whatever  is. ' ' 

On  the  day  following  Pacifico 's  punishment, 
Panfilo  went  to  Mapia.  The  Official  Interpreter 
of  Badi  felt  it  incumbent  upon  himself  to  boast 
to  one  americanista,  Senor  Presidente  Caronan 
of  Mapia,  of  how  his  uncle  had  revenged  himself 
upon  another  American  Supporter. 

"So  the  ignorante  upstart,  Pacifico,  received  a 
well-merited  flogging, "  the  exultant  youth  proudly 
announced,  and  marched  out  of  Senor  Caronan 's 
presence. 

Senor  Caronan  had  heard  of  the  Good  Book : — 
"An  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth?" 
Senor  Caronan  could  comprehend  such  logic.  So 
could  any  man.  Senor  Lasam?  Perhaps.  And 
"Pride  goeth  before  a  fall?"  Perhaps.  Senor 
Caronan  scratched  the  bald  spot  on  his  pate, — and 
sent  for  a  trusty  henchman. 

"Are  you  an  Ilocano?    No,"  he  inquired. 

"Wen,  senor." 

The  Ilocano  heard  of  Pacifico 's  fate  with  impas- 
sive countenance. 

"Did  Panfilo  insult  your  daughter?"  Senor 
Caronan  asked.  "The  Americans  would  regard 


SO  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS    153 

that  offense  sufficient  provocation  for  a  father's 
retribution." 

His  auditor  considered. 

"Wen,  senor,"  he  agreed. 

"Are  you  going  to  waylay  Panfilo,  and  flog  him 
as  he  deserves,  as  thoroughly  as  Pacifico  was 
flogged t" 

The  "Wen,  senor"  was  prompt. 

The  henchman  retired,  and  Senor  Caronan  en- 
joyed a  lonely  smile. 

That  night,  Senor  Lasam  received  a  dilapidated 
Panfilo,  together  with  explanations  and  condo- 
lences of  a  sarcastic  nature,  delivered  by  kindness 
of  Senor  Caronan,  Presidente  of  Mapia.  Perhaps 
Senor  Lasam  saw  the  point,  as  the  people  did.  At 
least,  he  called  many  maledictions  upon  the  wily 
head  of  the  quiet,  sinister  traitor  to  the  principals 
caste.  And  after  he  had  thoroughly  estimated 
every  danger  involved  in  the  action,  Senor  Presi- 
dent Don  Miguel  Lasam  complained  to  the  Amer- 
ican Chief  of  Constabulary,  TTho  investigated. 

With  many  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  with  many 
a  conciliatory  bow,  the  peaked,  thin-faced,  little 
Senor  Caronan  explained  to  Senor  Capitdn  Ameri- 
cano. 

"I  am  sorry  it  happened,  Senor  Capitdn.  It 
was  unfortunate.  But  my  people  are  ignorant, 
and  their  instinct  is  to  defend  their  own  as  best 
they  may.  Many  people  heard  Panfilo  offer  the 
man's  daughter  a  deadly  insult — foolish  boy — and 
the  father  in  his  righteous  anger  forgot  himself. 


154  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

I  scarcely  think  it  will  pay  Senor  Lasam  to  press 
the  matter.  But  I  can  produce  the  girl's  father, 
if  you  so  desire,  senor,"  he  offered.  "The  man 
has  been  tried,  and  acquitted." 

At  first,  Senor  Capitan  was  dubious.  But  Senor 
Caronan  's  guileless  brown  eyes  looked  frankly  up 
into  his  own.  And  Senor  Caronan  was  a  good 
presidente,  whose  ignorcmtes  loved  Mm,  and  a  just 
presidente,  and  a  loyal  American  Supporter.  Also, 
the  Chief  of  Constabulary  remembered  that  El 
Dangeroso  had  punished  Panfilo  for  a  similar  of- 
fense. He  so  reported  to  Senor  Lasam,  who  un- 
derstood, grinned, — and  submitted. 

On  the  second  day  after  Pacifico's  punishment, 
Emiliana,  greatly  excited,  burst  into  the  shack  of 
Pio  Baliuag. 

In  a  sentence,  she  told  them  the  news,  told  them 
that  nobody  remembered  Pacifico's  disgrace. 

Wide-eyed,  Pacifico  struggled  to  comprehend 
the  true  import  of  it  all. 

"Now,  everybody  is  talking  about  Senor  Presi- 
dente 's  shame, ' '  she  exulted,  dancing  and  clapping 
her  hands,  "and  Panfilo  is  very  beautiful,  with  so 
many  pretty  marks  on  his  back,"  she  laughed,  her 
eyes  snapping  her  vindictive  satisfaction. 

"Jesu-Uru!"  Pacifico  drawled,  a  certain  quality 
of  wonder  in  the  tone  of  his  voice.  "So  it  seems 
that  an  ignorante  MAY  hope,  by  grace  of  Senor 
Caronan  of  Mapia  I  And  EVEN  oppose  one  Senor 
Presidente — with  the  protection  of  another?" 

Then  he  pondered  for  a  time. 


SO  MANY  PRETTY  MARKS          155 

•'We  shall  see,"  ho  mused. 

But  the  girl,  disappointed  by  his  lack  of  exulta- 
tion, chilled  by  his  abstraction,  hurt  by  his  indif- 
ference toward  herself,  caught  her  lip  between  her 
teeth  and  stole  out — to  be  alone.  ' 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MYSTEEY  OF   THE  AMERICAN  DEVIL 

SIX  months  after  the  departure  of  El  Dcmge- 
roso,  Senor  Lasam  was  terror-stricken.  A 
new  Force  had  appeared  in  Badi,  a  sinister,  mys- 
terious, elusive  "Influence"  without  apparent  sub- 
stance or  body.  But  the  intent  of  the  malignant 
Power  was  evident  enough,  for  every  act  insti- 
gated by  it  was  directed  against  Senor  Lasam, 
and  injured  no  other  principale. 

In  the  first  place,  the  new  "Hocano  Combina- 
tion of  Tobacco  Growers,"  an  organization 
masked  in  the  innocent  guise  of  a  commercial 
venture  and  originally  composed  of  wealthy  Iloca- 
nos  and  independent  small  growers,  was  busily 
engaged  in  paying  off  the  debts  of  Senor  Lasam *s 
peons,  taking  into  its  membership  the  ignorantes 
thus  liberated  and  enjoying  the  future  control  of 
their  crops.  In  the  second  place,  but  most  signifi- 
cant fact  of  all,  the  Combination  confined  its  ac- 
tivities to  Senor  Lasam's  peons.  In  the  continua- 
tion of  this  policy  of  attacking  the  very  founda- 
tion of  his  income,  Senor  Lasam  foresaw  financial 
ruin.  Prospective  bankruptcy  terrified  him. 

In  his  effort  to  protect  himself  from  further 

156 


encroachment  by  the  Combination,  Senor  Lasam 
multiplied  the  debts  of  his  remaining  peons  by 
four, — and  thereby  brought  upon  himself  a  catas- 
trophe. Only  a  diabolical  ingenuity  could  have 
prompted  the  reply  of  the  Combination.  Senor 
Lasam  *s  heaviest  debtor,  the  peon  Gerardo  Ba- 
bas,  hailed  his  master  into  Court  for  an  account- 
ing, not  into  the  Justice's  Court  at  Badi,  which 
Senor  Lasam  could  dominate,  but  into  the  Insular 
Court  of  First  Instance.  The  American  Judge 
not  only  decided  every  point  of  contention  in  Ge- 
rardo's  favor,  but  also,  as  a  result  of  disallowing 
many  customary  charges,  reduced  the  original 
debt  by  more  than  one  half,  and  advised  the  Senor 
American  Provincial  Treasurer  to  see  that  all  of 
Senor  Presidente's  debtors  present  their  cases  for 
review.  Afterwards,  the  Combine  was  able  to  free 
twice  as  many  peons  with  its  money,  for  Senor 
Lasam  considered  it  wise  to  accept  a  just  payment 
without  resorting  to  the  Courts. 

In  desperation,  Senor  Presidente  planned  to  dis- 
cover who  among  the  Combination's  anembers 
was  the  instigator  of  the  policy, — to  take  ven- 
geance upon  him, — to  destroy  him. 

But  no  member  of  the  Combination  had  ever 
exhibited  the  sagacity  or  grasp  of  affairs  pos- 
sessed by  the  " Influence,"  which  directed  and  con- 
trolled the  organization.  Senor  Lasam  consid- 
ered the  possibility  that  some  American  was  con- 
cerned. But  the  secrecy,  the  impenetrable  mys- 
tery surrounding  everything  it  did,  even  had  there 


158  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

been  an  American  in  or  near  Badi,  contradicted 
such  a  supposition.  Nevertheless,  one  event 
seemed  to  confirm  it.  Just  after  he  had  announced 
a  "Special  Poll  Tax,"  by  which  he  had  hoped  to 
recoup  some  of  his  heavy  losses,  a  number  of 
Placards,  giving  the  American  Law  in  poor  Iba- 
nag,  had  mysteriously  appeared  at  every  corner 
of  the  Plaza.  Those  Placards  had  compelled  Se- 
nor  Lasam  to  abandon  that  plan.  And  the  Ibanag 
of  those  Placards  was  such  as  an  American  who 
knew  a  little  of  the  dialect  might  have  compiled 
after  much  laborious  translation! 

Senor  Lasarn  dismissed  a  momentary  suspicion 
of  Joseph  Ferguson,  the  new  American  Teacher 
at  Badi.  Senor  Lasam  always  had  a  sneer  for 
Senor  Ferguson;  that  white  man  was  a  "Hard- 
head" and  a  coward.  But  the  thought  of  him  sug- 
gested El  Dangeroso,  memory  of  whom  filled  Se- 
nor Lasam  with  regret;  El  Dangeroso' s  open  ag- 
gressions, against  which  a  man  could  take  precau- 
tions, had  been  far  less  obnoxious  and  injurious 
than  the  secret,  sinister,  malignant  attack  of  this 
"Influence." 

More  and  more,  Senor  Lasam  speculated  upon 
the  past,  and  in  doing  so,  became  obsessed  with 
a  suspicion,  a  suspicion  which  facts  seemed  to 
confirm.  Throughout  the  time  in  which  El  Dange- 
roso had  been  in  Badi,  during  the  interval  follow- 
ing his  removal,  and  since  the  arrival  of  Senor 
Ferguson,  Senor  Lasam  believed  he  could  discover 
signs  of  a  singular  coincidence.  The  more  Senor 


MYSTERY  OF  AMEEICAN  DEVIL    159 

Lasam  considered  the  situation  the  greater  grew 
his  superstitious  dread,  until  he  became  thoroughly 
convinced  that  some  inimical  * '  Influence ' '  had  pur- 
sued him  for  years,  first  manifesting  itself 
through  El  Dangeroso  and  later  through  the  pres- 
ent insidious  "Spirit,"  perhaps  an  "American 
Devil"  bent  on  his  ruin  in  revenge  for  the  re- 
moval of  its  agent,  El  Dangeroso. 

Facts  seemed  to  confirm  his  fear.  There  were 
all  his  misfortunes  during  El  Dangeroso 's  time. 
Nor  had  the  departure  of  that  American  resulted 
in  as  happy  conditions  as  Senor  Lasam  had  ex- 
pected, although  the  immediate  appearances  had 
seemed  to  indicate  that  it  would. 

There  had  been  some  very  apparent  advantages. 
As  Pacifico  Baliuag,  following  a  visit  from  Senor 
Lasam,  had  disappeared  from  his  usual  haunts  in 
town,  Senor  Ferguson  remained  ignorant  of  the 
lad's  existence,  and  Senor  Presidente  no  longer 
needed  endure  the  affront  of  that  upstart's  pres- 
ence in  Badi.  The  "New  Myth"  concerning  Pan- 
filo  's  humiliation  was  forgotten,  for  Emiliana  hid 
herself  away  so  effectually  that  not  even  a  glimpse 
of  her  served  to  refresh  the  people's  recollection 
of  the  episode,  while  Panfilo  sensibly  conferred 
his  attentions  elsewhere, — after  Senor  Lasam  had 
reprimanded  him  for  proposing  to  take  the  woman 
following  the  American's  departure. 

The  only  disconcerting  factor  in  that  period  had 
come  from  Senor  American  Provincial  Treasur- 
er's unexpected  weekly  visits  to  Badi,  a  "Custom" 


160  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

he  kept  up  until  Senor  Ferguson  arrived.  Of 
course,  the  restraint  of  those  visits  had  confined 
Senor  Lasam's  activities  to  legal  channels,  and 
the  cessation  of  the  "Custom"  was  welcomed. 
Senor  Lasam  always  understood  the  reason  for 
those  visits,  not  the  Official  Purpose  assigned  by 
the  American,  but  their  real  object. 

When  Senor  Ferguson  proved  a  most  tractable 
"hard-head,"  Senor  Lasam  had  assumed  that  he 
would  at  last  be  free  from  surveillance,  free  to 
make  the  most  of  his  coveted  opportunities.  In 
truth,  he  had  laughed  at  Senor  American  Provin- 
cial Treasurer  for  being  so  gullible  as  to  believe 
that  such  a  "hard-head"  as  Senor  Ferguson  would 
be  able  to  watch  so  shrewd  a  man  as  Senor  Presi- 
dente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  of  Badi.  To  do  that 
would  require  a  Senor  El  Dangeroso,  or  a  Senor 
American  Provincial  Treasurer,  or  a  Senor  del 
Monte. 

But  now  it  was  different.  Senor  Lasam  laughed 
at  nobody,  least  of  all  at  Senor  American  Pro- 
vincial Treasurer.  At  last,  he  understood  why 
those  visits  had  ended.  True,  they  had  ceased 
with  the  arrival  of  Senor  Ferguson,  but  also,  the 
disconcerting  operations  of  the  Combination  had 
begun  at  exactly  the  same  time ; — and  therein  lay 
the  convincing  coincidence.  In  reality,  those  visits 
of  the  Senor  American  Provincial  Treasurer  had 
ended  just  as  soon  as  the  "American  Devil"  was 
prepared  to  institute  his  direct  attack! 


MYSTERY  OF  AMERICAN  DEVIL   161 

Much  as  Senor  Lasam  puzzled  over  the  predica- 
ment in  which  he  found  himself,  much  as  terror 
prodded  Mm  into  efforts  to  discover  the  physical 
agent  who  made  it  possible  for  the  "Devil"  to 
gain  such  intimate  knowledge  of  his  affairs  and 
plans,  Senor  Lasam  was  nonplussed.  Senor  Fer- 
guson was  beyond  suspicion.  Not  only  was  that 
American  incompetent  to  be  the  spy  of  the  "  Amer- 
ican Devil,"  but  also  his  movements  were  so 
automatically  and  satisfactorily  regulated  and 
known  that  he  could  not  succeed  in  spying.  Ex- 
cept for  a  few  duty-calls  upon  principales  and  for 
occasional  attendance  at  social  functions,  the 
American  never  mingled  with  the  people,  but  im- 
prisoned himself  in  his  shack  when  he  was  not 
confined  to  school.  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  he 
generally  visited  the  new  Senor  of  the  Mountains. 

The  mysterious  element  in  it  all  was  what  terri- 
fied Senor  Lasam.  The  best  he  could  do  was  to 
buy  amulets  and  charms,  to  pray  to  his  Patron 
Saint,  to  hope  against  hope  that  the  "American 
Devil"  would  not  suspect  his  contemplated  coup 
in  the  matter  of  the  disfranchised  voters; — and 
to  thank  Jesu,  Santa  Maria,  y  Josep  because  the 
"American  Devil"  had  not  sent  the  new  Senor 
del  Monte  to  Badi,  for  rumors  had  it  that  that 
American  was  just  such  another  obnoxious  freak 
as  El  Dangeroso.  Senor  Lasam  shuddered  at  the 
mere  thought  of  what  such  an  American  would 
stir  up,  now  that  the  wrath  of  the  "American 
Devil"  wa&  so  thoroughly  aroused.  And  yet, 


162  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

sometimes,  when  Senor  Lasam  thought  that  the 
"American  Devil"  might  sleep, — and  forget, — if 
snch  an  American  were  in  Badi,  he  almost  longed 
for  Senor  del  Monte,  or  the  old  days  of  El  Dan- 
geroso. 


CHAPTER  X 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE 


r  I  WERE  is  a  quality  about  the  Philippines  that 
JL  is  oppressive  to  the  white  man,  a  burdensome 
something  that  has  never  been  named  nor  de- 
scribed. The  Old-Timer  meets  IT  with  a  calm  re- 
serve that  envelopes  him  in  a  veil  almost  impene- 
trable, while  IT  drives  the  New-Comer  to  frequent 
tramps  over  long,  terrible  trails  in  his  search  for 
the  companionship  of  his  own  kind  of  people. 
Sometimes,  IT  drives  a  white  man  to — other 
things. 

Joseph  Ferguson  felt  that  spell  of  the  Philip- 
pines, felt  it  intensely.  By  the  time  that  each  Fri- 
day came,  he  could  scarcely  restrain  his  impa- 
tience until  the  closing  hour  of  school.  Frequent- 
ly, he  made  no  attempt  to,  but  dismissed  his  class- 
es ahead  of  time,  in  order  that  he  might  increase 
by  an  hour  or  two  his  weekly  visit  to  his  colleague 
at  the  Mountain  Town.  Not  that  he  found  any 
great  pleasure  in  the  companionship  of  him  whom 
the  natives  called,  Senor  del  Monte,  nor  that  they 
had  any  interests  in  common  other  than  that  of 
race  and  occupation, — and  in  the  latter,  they  held 
antagonistic  points  of  view  on  everything, — nor 

163 


164  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

that  they  were  able  to  attain  such  an  intimacy  as 
is  often  possible  between  men  of  conflicting  ideals 
but  situated  as  were  they.  On  the  whole,  Joseph 
Ferguson  really  disapproved  of  the  American 
Teacher  of  the  Mountain  Town,  even  resented  in 
a  member  of  the  teaching  profession  certain  ele- 
ments of  uncouthness  in  the  man.  But  he  was 
some  one  to  talk  to,  he  was  a  white  man,  and  his 
conversation  was  diverting. 

Other  than  that  Senor  del  Monte  was  an  Old- 
Timer,  Ferguson  had  learned  nothing  about  him, 
either  by  direct  questions,  or  from  others. 

Usually,  Ferguson  began  the  weekly  visit  with 
an  enumeration  of  his  immediate  difficulties,  fol- 
lowed his  plaints  with  petulant  retorts  to  the 
Old-Timer's  philosophic  platitudes,  and  finally 
lapsed  into  a  discontented,  gloomy  silence,  broken 
only  by  an  occasional  monosyllabic  reply,  until  del 
Monte  had  wheedled  him  out  of  his  mood. 

On  his  first  trip  to  the  Mountain  Town  after 
hearing  of  Senor  Lasam's  belief  in  an  "American 
Devil,"  Ferguson's  silent  mood  was  tinged  by  a 
deeper  gloom  than  usual,  a  gloom  so  intense  that 
the  Old-Timer  was  unable  to  prod  him  out  of  it. 
It  Had  been  like  that  for  two  days. 

The  Old-Timer  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  re- 
garded his  visitor  curiously,  pityingly,  for  Fer- 
guson still  stared  out  into  the  distance,  even  after 
the  last  sally. 

"'What  is  a  man  going  to  do  to  help  a  fellow 
that  has  IT  as  bad  as  you,"  the  Old-Timer  mut- 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         165 

tered  to  himself;  "you're  the  first  fellow  I  ever 
saw  that  didn't  listen  to  THAT  yarn." 

Ferguson  started,  and  again  took  up  the  bur- 
den of  conversation. 

"How  is  that?"  he  asked.  "So  you  have  been 
here  five  years,"  he  mused. 

Something  in  his  host's  manner,  a  peculiar 
gleam  in  the  gray  eyes,  a  tremor  of  the  thin  lips, 
like  an  unborn  smile,  seemed  to  accuse  him  of  a 
lapse  of  attention;  he  assumed  an  air  that  simu- 
lated an  animated  interest  in  the  comment  which 
he  had  not  heard. 

"Five  years,"  he  repeated,  "five  years." 

The  Old-Timer  smiled. 

"All  of  that,  and  my  cocoanut  palms  in  Batan- 
gas  have  just  begun  to  bear;  it  will  be  another 
six  or  eight  years  before  I  can  go  home  to  'The 
States'  like  a  gentleman." 

"How  can  you  face  IT?"  the  New-Comer  puz- 
zled. "I  have  been  in  the  Philippines  but  six 
months,  and  I'm  counting  the  days  until  my  con- 
tract with  the  Government  expires,  and  I  can 
make  my  get-away  to  the  little  old  United  States." 

"Forget  IT,  pard,  forget  IT,"  the  Veteran 
advised.  "  I  Ve  been  through  IT,  and  I  know  how 
you  feel,  but— forget  IT." 

"I  can't,"  Ferguson  wailed,  "I  can't  forget 
IT,  Jackson;  IT  is  with  me  every  second  of  the 
day,  and  I  don't  know  what  IT  is." 

Jackson  shrugged  his  shoulders, — like  a  Fili- 
pino. 


166  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"And  nobody  knows  what  IT  is ;  IT  is  the  Name- 
less IT.  But  IT  breaks  a  white  man  unless  he 
beats  IT,  and  the  only  way  to  beat  IT  is  to  forget 
IT.  Get  your  mind  on  something  else.  Then  the 
Silence  won't  bother  you  so." 

"The  Silence!"  Ferguson  exclaimed. 

"Sure,  pard,  the  Silence,"  Jackson  asserted. 
"Did  you  ever  walk  for  hours  through  the  busiest 
street  of  a  strange  city,  and  feel  the  Silence? 
The  clatter  of  the  wagons  on  the  cobbles,  the  rum- 
ble of  the  cars,  the  chatter  of  the  mob,  the  patter 
of  the  feet,  the  multitude  of  the  noises  there  drown 
the  Voice  of  God  Almighty;  He  can't  talk  to  you 
in  a  strange  city  the  way  He  does  in  the  forest, 
and  fields,  and  mountains,  or  on  the  sea.  Or  call 
it  solitude  instead  of  silence,  if  you  want.  And 
this  is  worse.  The  chatter  there  is  a  white  man's 
tongue,  while  this  here" — his  hand  seemed  to 
brush  aside  all  thought  of  recognizing  such  a  lan- 
guage as  speech — "this  is  jabber,  jabber,  jabber, 
and  a  nasal  twang.  This  is  Silence.  Get  your 
mind  on  something,  before  IT  drives  you  to  bino, 
— or  to  a  native  woman." 

"You  mean  a  fellow  is  lonesome  here?"  Fergu- 
son questioned. 

Jackson  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

"As  you  will,"  he  indifferently  agreed. 

"My  God!  You  don't  expect  a  white  man  to 
mix  with  these  dirty  googoos,  do  you?"  Ferguson 
objected.  His  mouth  curled  in  a  sneer.  "They 
are  animals!  The  lazy,  shiftless  beasts  haven't 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         167 

ambition  enough  to  take  advantage  of  their  oppor- 
tunities. The  Government  is  just  wasting  money 
in  trying  to  educate  them.  And  a  white  man 
can't  trust  the  treacherous,  cruel  devils!  Look 
at  their  amusements !  Cock-pit,  and  all  that !  The 
fellows  that  try  to  tell  me  how  much  their  kids 
learn,  make  me  sick.  I  know  all  about  the  damned 
googoos!" 

"Possibly,"  Jackson  conceded.  "I  don't. 
Though  I've  learned  something  about  them  since 
I've  been  here,  I  expect  to  keep  on  learning  until 
I  leave  the  country.  You  are  the  first  fellow  I 
ever  met  that  was  sure  he  knew  them, — and  I 
never  met  the  only  guy  that  everybody  said  DID 
know  them;  he  left  North  Province  just  before  I 
was  sent  up  here — about  the  time  you  reached 
Manila  from  'The  States,'  "  he  quietly  remarked. 

Ferguson  flushed. 

"Oh,  well,  I  guess  I  did  put  it  rather  strong," 
he  owned.  "Old  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel 
Lasam  of  my  town  is  a  rather  decent  sort,  I'll 
admit;  fat  and  greasy,  a  bit  repulsive,  especially 
when  he  is  munching  buja  and  the  red  saliva 
trickles  down  his  chin,  or  his  hand  smears  it  over 
his  cheek.  But  he  is  kind-hearted;  I  don't  know 
how  I  would  live  if  it  wasn't  for  the  chickens  and 
eggs  he  sends  me." 

"Grub  isn't  everything,"  Jackson  hinted. 

* '  Good  grub  amounts  to  a  whole  lot  in  this  coun- 
try," Ferguson  argued,  just  a  tinge  of  belliger- 
ency,— perhaps  of  self-defense, — in  his  voice  and 


168  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

manner.  '  *  The  gambler,  Brown, — know  Mm,  don 't 
you? — told  me  his  Hg  reason  for  keeping  a  native 
woman  was  that  his  own  cooking  made  him  sick; 
: — dysentery,  and  the  like.'* 

Jackson  grinned. 

"A  white  man  does  hate  to  confess  that  he  ia 
beaten,"  he  suggested, — "even  by  IT." 

"How  about  you?"  Ferguson  retorted. 

Again,  the  Old-Timer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
But  he  stuck  his  fingers  in  his  trousers  pockets 
and  gripped  the  cloth  between  thumb  and  fore- 
finger, as  though  he  would  crush  something. 

"That  is  different.  I've  been  through  IT, 
through  the  very  worst  of  IT, — and  I  know, ' '  he 
declared,  the  snappish  curtness  of  the  words  re- 
vealing a  resentment  which  his  habitual  compo- 
sure could  not  hide. 

The  New  Teacher  glanced  at  his  host,  curiously, 
inquiringly,  expectantly. 

The  Old-Timer  met  the  gaze  defiantly,  answer- 
ing the  question  in  Ferguson's  eyes  with  a  "Well? 
— THAT  matter  is  my  affair, — and  nobody's  busi- 
ness,— but" — The  appeal  of  his  visitor's  imma- 
ture, petulant  face  recalled  him  to  his  normal 
composure — "after  all, — perhaps  it  might  do  you 
some  good."  He  turned  toward  a  photograph  on 
the  wall,  and  stared  at  it.  "The  'Girl'  was  nine- 
teen. She  expected  to  wait  three  years,  and  I  count- 
ed the  days.  But  I  had  something  to  think  about, 
and  plan  for ; — a  home,  and  all  that.  Then  I  asked 
her  to  wait  another  two  years, — until  the  cocoa- 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         169 

nuts  should  bear; — she  married  'the  other  fel- 
low/ " — he  faced  his  guest, — "and  I  don't  blame 
her."  He  paused,  while  some  vague  regret  shad- 
owed his  parched  face.  "They  say  the  Tropics 
get  such  a  grip  on  a  fellow  who  has  been  here  as 
long  as  I  have  that  he  can't  break  away.  Perhaps 
I'll  never  go  back  to  'The  States,' — except  for  a 
visit, — to  see  how  the  guy  treats  her, — and — well 
— I  'm  not  counting  the  days  any  more.  The  Trop- 
ics ARE  peculiar;  they  take  something  out  of  a 
fellow  that  he  can't  ever  get  back,— 

"You  have  hit  IT,"  Ferguson  interrupted; 
"every  fellow  loses  something  out  of  his  make- 
up after  he  has  been  here  long  enough;  he  gets 
to  be  a  regular  Filipino  in  some  ways.  Why  just 
last  week  I  had  an  experience  that. shows  it.  Talk 
about  ingratitude !  A  dirty  bum  came  to  my  house 
in  the  middle  of  that  big  storm ; — soaked,  ragged, 
unkempt,  with  a  beautiful  'hard-luck  story' ; — said 
he  was  an  Army  teamster  tramping  from  Caua- 
yan  to  Aparri.  The  pup !  I  took  him  in,  fed  him, 
gave  him  a  pair  of  leather  boots — good  ones, — a 
suit  of  clothes,  a  whole  outfit.  And  when  I  caught 
the  sneak  picking  my  pockets  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  the  best  excuse  he  could  give  me  was,  'Bino. 
Man '11  do  anything  for  bino,  pard.  He's  GOT 
to  d(  something  to  forget  IT.'  Now,  that  was — ." 

"Pretty  near  the  truth,"  Jackson  in  turn  inter- 
rupted, "you  have  to  forget  IT.  Nose  around  in 
your  town,  and  see  what  you  can  find.  I'll  bet 
you'll  stumble  on  plenty  of  excitement." 


170  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"In  Badi!"  Ferguson  exclaimed.  ''Have  you 
been  in  Badi?" 

"Perhaps,  if  I  tell  you  something  about  your 
predecessor,  Johnny  Lanagan, — the  Filipinos 
called  him,  El  Dangeroso, — " 

"That  Brute!"  Ferguson  sneered.  "I  heard 
all  about  him  in  Manila ;  the  Government  deported 
him,"  he  explained.  "And  Senor  Presidente  La- 
sam  has  told  me  the  details  of  the  cruelties  he 
practised  on  these  people.  Beating  them!  Gad! 
A  fine  example  of  a  white  man !  The  kind  of  De- 
generate a  man  gets  to  be  if  he  stays  in  this 
country  too  long.  No,  sir,  old  boy,  you  are  wrong ; 
the  quicker  a  fellow  can  get  away  from  here  the 
better  for  him." 

The  Old-Timer  smiled. 

"I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,  pard,"  he  apolo- 
gized, "but  the  sun  is  riding  low,  and  it  is  a  long 
tramp  to  Badi.  And  for  a  parting  shot:  Forget 
IT,  find  an  Interest  in  the  people,  and  throw  your- 
self into  that." 

By  the  time  that  the  New  Teacher  at  Badi  had 
reached  the  foot  of  the  last  hills  between  his  sta- 
tion and  the  Mountain  Town,  the  "Nameless  IT" 
had  resumed  undisputed  sway  over  his  being. 
Hard,  strangled  sobs  wracked  his  muscular  frame. 
As  unconscious  of  the  dank  chill  as  he  had  been 
of  the  parching  heat  on  the  bare  hills  along  the 
backward  trail,  he  trudged  on  beneath  the  over- 
hanging branches  of  the  scant  jungle-growth. 
"What  is  the  use  of  clubbing  a  man  with  advice, 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         171 

and  jabbing  him  with  suggestive  warnings  against 
bino  and  Googoo  women,  when  all  he  needs  is  a 
little  sympathy,"  he  expostulated  in  protest  at  the 
quality  of  the  consolation  he  had  received  from  his 
colleague.  But  before  he  could  continue  with  his 
mental  arraignment  of  the  Old-Timer,  the  words 
of  "My  Bonnie"  broke  on  his  surprised  ears. 
Startled,  he  halted  and  listened. 

"...  lies  over  the  ocean; 
My  Bonnie  lies  over  the  sea, 
Oh,  bring  back  my  Bonnie  to  me. 

Bring  back,  bring  back, 
Oh,  bring  back  my  Bonnie  to  me; 

Bring  back,  oh,  bring  back, 
Bring  back  my  Bonnie  to  me." 

There  were  two  voices, — one  rich  and  full,  the 
other  clear  and  sweet  I 

He  gulped  twice. 

"A  white  woman  in  this  god-forsaken  hole!" 
he  ejaculated. 

He  raced  down  the  gentle  incline  of  the  trail  to 
the  end  of  the  brush  ahead,  and  shading  his  eyes 
from  the  glare  of  the  sun  dancing  just  above  the 
dark  mist  on  the  tips  of  the  Western  Mountains, 
hunted  over  the  plain  for  the  singers.  Perhaps 
the  tears  blinded  him.  But  upon  the  field's  whole, 
bare  expanse,  he  could  distinguish  nothing  but  a 
carabao  and  its  riders,  a  young  Filipino  couple 
whose  bodies  swayed  in  unison  with  the  animal's 
lumbering  gait.  Disappointed,  puzzled,  he  started 
toward  the  natives. 


172  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

"What  is  the  use  of  asking  them  about  the  sing- 
ers?" he  muttered.  "Either  they  will  'no  sabe,' 
or  they  will  tell  me  any  lie  they  think  will  please 
me." 

Nevertheless,  he  answered  the  wave  of  the  lad's 
hand,  and  hurried  his  pace,  and  gritted  his  teeth 
at  the  leisurely,  lumbering  approach  of  the  ox- 
like  animal.  His  nerves  aquiver  with  anxious 
impatience  and  tensed  to  the  utter  limit  of  endur- 
ance, he  growled,  "Hurry  up." 

"You,  sir,  are  far  from  the  usual  courses  of 
travel.  Can  I  direct  you  ? ' '  the  lad  hailed. 

The  rich,  full  voice  and  perfect  pronunciation 
startled  the  American  out  of  his  mood.  Speech- 
less, he  stared. 

"That  pair  of  smiling  dubs!"  he  muttered. 
His  surprise,  his  disgust  melted  into  wonder. 
"Were  you  singing?"  he  demanded. 

Sitting  well  forward  on  the  carabao,  one  bare 
leg  resting  along  the  animal's  neck,  a  tattered 
elbow  on  his  knee,  his  face  tilted  sidewise  against 
his  hand,  his  dilapidated  straw  hat  awry,  his 
twinkling  brown  eyes  looking  squarely  into  the 
American's,  the  lad  grinned  in  frank  enjoyment 
of  the  white  man's  astonishment. 

"I  am  Pacifico,  son  of  Pio  Baliuag,  who  is  a 
laborer  of  the  hills,  and  I  went  to  the  School  in 
Badi  for  four  years  while  he  whom  we  called 
El  Dangeroso  was  the  American  Teacher.  So 
Emiliana  and  I  always  sing  American  songs,"  he 
explained.  "I  was  the  Great  American's  mucha- 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         173 

cho  in  the  Days  of  El  Dangeroso,  and  they  were 
wonderful  days,  sir.  In  those  times,  an  ignorante 
had  justice,  while  now,  when  Senor  Presidente 
orders  us  out  of  School,  none  dare  disobey.  You 
do  not  understand  why  that  should  be,  sir.  It  is 
because  the  New  American  Teacher  is  different." 
His  voice  trailed  into  silence,  and  a  quizzical  smile 
settled  on  his  face  as  his  mind  wandered  in  rev- 
erie. 

The  "New  American  Teacher"  fidgeted. 

"How  so?"  he  finally  inquired. 

Pacifico  started.  "How  so?"  he  repeated. 
"You  see,  El  Dangeroso  was  brave,  very  brave, 
and  he  was  terrible  in  his  anger,  and  so  the  prin- 
cipales,  even  Senor  Presidente,  feared  to  inflict 
any  tyranny  on  an  ignorante/'  he  elucidated  under 
the  stimulus  provided  by  an  interested  auditor. 
"It  was  always  so.  And  El  Dangeroso  was  wise; 
he  knew  all  things,  and  none  could  fool  him.  He 
understood  how  to  learn  of  tyranny — nobody 
needed  to  tell  him  when  tyranny  was  about. 
How?" — he  paused  while  he  smiled — "Who 
knows?  God  willed  it,  and  so  he  learned."  The 
lad's  smile  broadened  into  a  grin.  "And  then  the 
sting  of  his  beautiful  loejuco,  a  marvelous  whip, 
afforded  the  people  much  unusual  diversion — to 
see  a  principale  writhe  in  public  and  squirm  for 
his  sins  under  the  biting  caress  of  the  lash,  like  a 
common  ignorante  who  has  offended  his  master, 
like  me,  is  a  most  just  spectacle,  sir,  a  most  amus- 
ing spectacle. ' '  And  then  he  recounted  a  long  list 


174  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

of  incidents  illustrative  of  his  claim.  "So  there 
was  no  tyranny  in  the  Days  of  El  Dangeroso; 
Senor  Lasam's  many  gifts  of  eggs  and  chickens 
but  warned  El  Dangeroso  of  a  plan  for  some  new 
tyranny,"  he  concluded.  "But  this  new  Teach- 
er—" 

Pacifico  paused,  and  mournfully  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,"  the  American  urged,  eager  to  hear  the 
verdict  upon  himself,  though  fearing  it, ' l  this  new 
Teacher  at  Badi?" 

Pacifico  laughed. 

"Many  chickens  and  eggs  have  I  carried  to 
Badi,  by  order  of  Senor  Presidente.  This  new 
Teacher  is  a  coward ;  he  must  be,  for  no  one  fears 
him.  Is  it  not  so  I  No?  And  he  is  a 'hard-head' 
that  Senor  Presidente  ridicules.  Any  one  can  fool 
him."  Pacifico  waved  the  white  man's  protest 
aside.  "Oh,  I  know,"  he  insisted,  "for  we  have 
plenty  of  tyranny  now.  It  is  the  Truth ;  El  Dange- 
roso himself  told  me  so,  and  even  I  know  that  he 
is  a  coward,"  he  claimed.  "He  has  shown  it." 

This  new  interpretation  of  facts  with  which  he 
was  in  part  familiar,  as  well  as  the  frank  estimate 
of  himself,  impressed  Joseph  Ferguson.  To  be 
hailed  as  the  Upholder  of  Justice,  to  be  remem- 
bered as  the  Preserver  of  the  Helpless,  were  cer- 
tainly desirable  tributes  to  a  man's  work;  perhaps 
such  success  would  justify  even  the  adoption  of 
El  Dangeroso' s  tactics.  And  more,  Ferguson  rec- 
ognized the  fact  that,  in  an  aim  to  win  a  similar 
regard  from  the  people,  he  would  find  just  such  an 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         175 

Interest  in  Life  as  the  Old-Tinier  had  advised 
him  to  seek.  He  was  tempted,  tempted  to  the 
point  of  preparing  the  way  for  a  new  attitude  on 
his  own  part. 

"Perhaps  this  New  Teacher  doesn't  under- 
stand, perhaps  he  is  like  me  in  that  respect,"  the 
American  offered  in  extenuation  of  his  own  short- 
comings. 

Pacifico  pondered  upon  the  suggestion. 

"Possibly  he  is  a  fool,"  he  conceded;  "else  he 
would  see." 

The  white  man  winced.  Nevertheless,  one  fac- 
tor that  presented  itself  in  his  deliberations 
proved  most  impressive;  the  final  success  of  the 
Filipino  Ruling  Class  in  disposing  of  El  Dange- 
roso,  in  securing  even  his  deportation,  was  unde- 
niable. 

"If  El  Dangeroso  had  not  interfered  so  much, 
he  might  have  staid  at  Badi,"  he  suggested;  "the 
principales  got  their  own  way  in  the  end." 

Resentment  mastered  Pacifico 's  stoically  indif- 
ferent poise. 

"These  things  are  wrong,  sir.  I  know,  for  I 
have  the  American  Law  and  the  many  books  that 
El  Dangeroso  gave  me,  and  I  study  them.  But 
the  New  American  Teacher  is  a  'hard-head'  and 
a  coward.  So  these  things  are."  The  one  flash 
of  temper  seemed  to  give  vent  to  all  of  Pacifico 's 
pent-up  feeling,  and  he  smiled  again.  "Tell  these 
things  to  the  American  T "  he  repeated  twice.  The 
smile  faded  from  the  youth's  face,  and  he  stared 


176  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

intently  into  the  distance.  Sadly,  lie  shook  his 
head.  ''Who  dares?"  he  questioned.  "He  is  a 
coward, — and  he  accepts  many  gifts  of  chickens 
and  eggs  from  Senor  Presidente  Lasam." 

The  American  shook  his  head, — in  mild  protest 
at  the  contemptuous  estimate  of  himself. 

"But  Senor  Lasam 's  enmity  isn't — exactly — to 
be  despised,  is  it?"  he  commented;  "El  Dange- 
roso  was  deported." 

Pacifico  sneered. 

"Even  I  have  thwarted  that  fool  of  a  presi- 
dente,"  he  boasted.  "Once,  he  planned  to  rob 
the  people  with  a  false  tax,  but  I  read  the  Law, 
and  translated  it  into  Ibanag,  and  posted  Placards 
on  the  important  corners  of  the  town,  and  every- 
body laughed  at  the  fool.  And  because  the  trans- 
lations were  poor  Ibanag,  the  'hard-head'  believes 
that  some  American  Devil  hovers  over  Badi,  all 
ready  to  pounce  upon  him  and  to  punish  him  for 
his  false  charges  against  El  Dangeroso.  And  he 
buys  many  charms  and  amulets  to  protect  him 
from  the  evil '  Influence. '  And  I  planned  the  Com- 
bination of  Tobacco  Growers  that  each  month  pays 
the  debts  of  some  of  Senor  Lasam 's  peons;  and 
soon  he  will  lose  all  the  profits  he  has  stolen  from 
his  debtors  in  the  past.  And  the  'hard-head' 
doesn't  know  that  it  was  I,"  the  lad  exulted, — 
"and  so  he  trembles  in  his  own  town  for  fear  of 
some  new  burden  that  the  'American  Devil'  will 
impose  upon  him!  And  when  I  have  gone  to  the 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         177 

Normal  School  in  Manila,  let  the  fool  find  it  out. 
Who  cares?" 

"I  would  not  talk  about  it,"  the  American  ad- 
vised. "Suppose  he  should  find  out." 

Pacifico  trembled,  even  while  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"As  God  wills  it,"  he  declared.  "But  then 
there  is  Senor  Caronan  of  Mapia  to  protect  us, 
and  possibly  Senor  del  Monte,  the  new  Teacher  at 
the  Town  on  the  Mountain-Side,  will  prove  our 
friend.  I  have  heard  that  he  dares,  like  El  Dan- 
ger oso,  though  I  have  never  seen  him. ' ' 

The  white  man  uneasily  shifted  his  gaze  under 
the  lad's  too  close  scrutiny,  and  glanced  toward 
the  town  where  he  had  spent  the  last  two  days. 

"Senor  Lasam  may  suspect  you,"  he  warned. 

"Are  you  Senor  del  Monte?"  Pacifico  inquired. 

"Oh,  no,"  the  white  man  hastily  stated.     "I  ' 
am  only  a  traveler." 

Pacifico  sighed. 

"Possibly,"  he  muttered.  "And  Senor  Lasam 
has  made  many  gifts  to  the  coward  of  late." 

His  head  bowed  in  anxious  thought,  the  lad 
urged  the  carabao  toward  the  brook,  while  the 
white  man  plodded  on  his  way  and  pondered  upon 
all  he  had  heard. 

"It  is  up  to  me  to  do  something;  that  kid  ought 
to  have  a  show,"  Ferguson  decided,  his  jaws  set. 

But  each  time  that  his  mind  balanced  on  the 
verge  of  the  resolution  to  imitate  El  Dangeroso 
and  so  to  win  a  like  affection  from  the  people, 


178  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

one  single  consideration  checked  the  decision.  One 
after  another,  Senor  Lasam  had  removed  those 
whose  opposition  to  him  was  their  only  offense, — 
had  removed  them  all,  both  Americans  and  Fili- 
pinos, in  one  way  or  another.  Ferguson  shook  his 
head  once  more. 

"It  IS  a  sinister  power,"  he  muttered;  "no 
wonder  the  Filipinos  fear  their  presidentes  1 ' ' 

With  his  brooding,  the  old  sense  of  loneliness, 
of  isolation,  grew  upon  him,  and  the  depressive, 
Nameless  "IT"  overpowered  his  self-mastery, 
until  a  perspiration  for  which  the  twilight  hour 
could  not  account  moistened  his  face.  With  lag- 
gard step,  he  crossed  the  porch  of  his  shack.  The 
door-knob  rattled  at  touch  of  his  tensed  fingers ; — 
he  gripped  it  spasmodically.  The  creak  of  the 
hinges  rasped  his  sensitive  nerves; — he  shud- 
dered at  the  shock.  The  big,  gloomy,  box-like, 
familiar  room  welcomed  him  to  its  crude,  barren 
comfort;  the  comfort  of  white-washed  walls,  and 
of  a  bureau  improvised  from  a  commissary  case, 
and  on  the  table  the  best  of  Senor  Lasam 's  gifts 
of  chicken  and  eggs! — and  venison!  Suddenly, 
senselessly,  completely  unnerved,  he  sank  into  the 
single  chair.  Then  he  remembered  Pacifico  's  com- 
ment of  an  hour  back. 

"Something  IS  doing,"  he  faltered, — "or  there 
would  be  no  chicken  and  eggs," — he  mopped  his 
face — ' '  and  venison ;  there  is  DECIDEDLY  some- 
thing doing." 


A  SONG  BY  THE  WAYSIDE         179 

The  scratch  of  a  match,  the  familiar  scent  of 
his  servant's  cigar,  the  common-place  clatter  of 
pots  and  pans  on  the  earthen  fire-box,  broke  into 
the  almost  terrifying  intensity  of  the  silence  that 
had  seemed  to  envelope  everything.  They  were 
very  usual  factors  of  existence,  and  reassured  the 
American.  And  the  savory  odor  of  the  venison 
steak,  of  fresh  meat — a  wonderfully  welcome 
change  from  canned  stuffs,  proved  a  stimulant. 
Gradually,  he  threw  off  his  depression,  and  gained 
a  certain  control  of  himself. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  chided  himself.  "That 
kid  worked  on  my  imagination.  The  poor  little 
devil!  A  remarkably  bright  lad!  And  he  can't 
help  having  the  perverted  view  of  life  that  all  of 
his  class  have ! ' ' 

That  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  might  reen- 
f  orce  the  arguments  by  which  he  sought  to  regain 
the  full  measure  of  his  self-complacency,  that  hie 
nervousness  might  find  a  vent  in  action,  he  talked 
aloud  and  paced  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
until  his  servant  brought  the  tempting  venison 
steak. 

"But  I've  got  to  take  a  grip  on  myself,"  he 
concluded, ' '  or  that — now,  what  did  the  Old-Timer 
call  it?— oh,  yes,  the  'Nameless  IT,'— or  that  IT- 
WILL  get  the  best  of  me."  He  hesitated. 
"Strange  how  that  kid's  yarn  bluffed  me!  But 
I'll  just  keep  still  about  the  lad,"  he  promised 
nothing  in  particular;  "there  is  no  need  of  men- 
tioning him  to  Senor  Lasam." 


180  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

A  vigorous  clapping  of  his  hands  summoned 
his  servant,  and  Ferguson  delayed  his  enjoyment 
of  the  venison  long  enough  to  command,  "Take 
my  very  special  thanks  to  Senor  Presidente.  Tell 
him  that  I  more  than  appreciate  his  kindness." 

Then  he  turned  back  to  such  a  banquet  as  few 
of  his  fellow  teachers  ever  enjoyed.  With  satiety 
came  philosophical  meditations; — upon  the  gen- 
eral worthlessness  of  googoos — upon  the  folly  of 
attempting  a  thing  so  futile  as  combating  the  va- 
garies of  the  ignorant, — upon  the  peculiar  power 
of  the  country  and  its  associations  to  transform  a 
white  man  into  such  a  brutal  pervert  as  El  Dan- 
geroso, — upon  the  marked  contrast  between  the 
character  of  the  comprehension  possessed  by  the 
Old-Timer,  and  that  possessed  by  the  googoo  Se- 
nor Presidente  Lasam,  who  recognized  the  essen- 
tial necessity  to  an  American  in  the  Philippines 
of  securing  wholesome  food  for  his  stomach.  Over 
a  good  cigar,  he  went  to  sleep.  And  when  he 
awakened  again,  he  had  forgotten  everything  but 
his  Gloom  and  the  wisdom  of  fostering  the  friend- 
ship through  which  he  received  so  many  gifts  of 
"good  grub." 


CHAPTER  XI 

CHABMS  OF  THE  DEVIL, 

EMILIANA  restrained  her  anxious  impulse 
to  interrupt  the  trend  of  Pacifico 's  specu- 
lations until  the  carabao  was  plunging  down  the 
river-bank  and  she  and  the  lad  had  vaulted  from 
the  animal's  back.  Then  she  breathed  the  fear- 
inspired  question,  "Perhaps  that  strange  Ameri- 
can WAS  the  New  Teacher  at  Badi?"  When 
Pacifico  absently  nodded  assent,  she  trembled  at 
his  confirmation  of  her  suspicions,  and  wailed, 
"If  he  tells,  Pacifico,  if  he  tells?  Oh,  why  did 
you  talk  so  to  that  strange  American !" 

Pacifico  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"At  first,  I  thought  he  was  the  new  Senor  of 
the  Mountains, — who  is  like  El  Dangeroso, — and 
dares.  Perhaps  he  would  help  us  here  in  Badi,  if 
he  knew  about  the  cowardice  of  our  American." 

"You  are  so  careless,"  Emiliana  reproved; 
'  *  you  should  know  who  people  are  before  you  tell 
them  everything."  The  terrible  possibilities  in 
Senor  Presidente's  vengeance  revivified  her  ter- 
ror. "If  the  American  should  tell!  Why — Senor 

Lasam — might — even ,"  she  faltered,  but  the 

mere  thought  of  that  disgrace  strangled  her  power 
to  word  it. 

181 


182  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pacifico  understood ;  he  had  endured  one  public 
flogging.  He  shivered.  And  a  second  one  might 
not  have  an  aftermath  that  would  make  the  peo- 
ple forget  his  ignominy  in  their  amusement  at  the 
shame  of  a  principals!  But  the  girl's  words  and 
manner  thrilled  him,  and  he  laughed  a  glad  exul- 
tation over  her  frank  anxiety  for  his  safety.  The 
soft  tone  of  the  retort,  "  'Hard-head,'  you!" 
transformed  the  reprimand  into  a  caress  of  the 
dark-eyed,  agitated,  brown  beauty.  Then  he  gave 
his  attention  to  reassuring  her. 

"No  matter,"  he  asserted.  "I  hope  the  Ameri- 
can was  the  New  Teacher  at  Badi.  He  said  he 
did  not  know  that  these  things  are.  Perhaps,  now 
that  I  have  told  him,  he  will  be  brave,  and  there 
will  be  two  new  'El  Dangerosos  of  Badi,'  a  White 
American  and  a  Brown."  In  his  memory  of  the 
American's  repeated  cautions  against  the  lad's 
own  bold  statements,  Pacifico  found  an  unworded 
promise  that  the  white  man  would  regard  the  in- 
cident as  a  confidence.  "I  have  no  fear  of  Senor 
Presidente,"  he  insisted;  "I  know  the  American 
Laws." 

As  Emiliana's  evident  admiration  of  his  cour- 
age inspired  the  lad,  he  breathed  more  freely. 

"But  Senor  Lasam's  influence  with  the  Ameri- 
can Government  secured  the  deportation  of  El 
Dangeroso,"  she  argued, — "and  the  New  Ameri- 
can fears  Senor  Presidente 's  might." 

"The  New  American  accepts  many  gifts  of 
chickens  and  eggs,"  Pacifico  corrected,  lest  she 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  183 

forget  the  distinction  between  fear  and  accepting 
a  bribe. 

Emiliana  shook  her  head,  while  Pacifico  sneered 
further  at  Senor  Lasam.  But  his  reply  to  her  con- 
tradiction was  gentle. 

"Foolish  girl!"  he  chided.  "Senor  Presidente 
knows  both  his '  Sins '  and  the  'Laws. '  So  he  trem- 
bles for  fear  of  an  *  American  Devil,'  and  the  whole 
Province  laughs  at  him  for  his  'hard-head,'  and 
ridicules  him  for  the  humiliations  that  I  have 
brought  upon  him.  And  now  that  Senor  Guarrin, 
leader  of  the  Ilocano  'faction,'  has  decided  to 
stand  as  a  candidate  in  opposition  to  Senor  La- 
sam's  reelection  as  presidente,  we  may  defy  the 
'hard-head'  openly,  because" — a  gleam  of  exulta- 
tion shone  in  his  black-brown  eyes — "I  have  dis- 
covered in  the  'Acts  of  the  Commission'  what  will 
insure  Senor  Guarrin 's  success.  And  everybody 
will  know  that  Pacifico  Baliuag,  ignorante,  is  the 
'El  Dangeroso '  who  defeated  the  Tyrant,  Lasam," 
he  triumphed. 

Emiliana  shuddered,  and  her  eyes  narrowed, 
suspiciously,  disapprovingly.  Emiliana  always 
shuddered  when  Pacifico  surrendered  his  saner, 
calmer  reason  to  the  witchery  of  the  old  childish 
game  of  "the  New  El  Dangeroso,"  for  she  sensed 
the  "Spell"  that  dominated  him  in  those  moments, 
— and  guessed  the  unconscious  significance  of 
those  moods.  She  glanced  southward  toward  Ma- 
nila, whither  his  ambition  was  leading  him,  to- 
ward the  Wonderful  City  of  beautiful  senoritas, 


184  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

among  whom  a  Masterful  Pacifico  might  find  a 
suitable  mate. 

"Senor  Presidente  Lasam  has  disfranchised 
more  than  one  hundred  Free  Ilocano  ignorantes, 
because  they  speak  neither  English  nor  Spanish; 
• — and  yet  every  one  of  them  is  entitled  to  vote, 
because  he  pays  a  tax  high  enough.  I  have  trans- 
lated the  'Law'  into  bad  Ibanag, — so  that  Senor 
Lasam  will  again  blame  the  'American  Devil,' — 
and  to-night  I  shall  placard  the  town,  and  send  a 
list  of  their  names  to  the  Senor  American  Provin- 
cial Treasurer  at  the  Provincial  Capital.  Let 
Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  explain,"  he 
snapped, — "to  Senor  American  Provincial  Treas- 
urer,— and  to  the  public." 

Emiliana  grabbed  his  arm, — snatched  the  trans- 
lation. 

"You  must  let  me  talk  to  you,"  she  pleaded. 
She  crumbled  the  paper  in  a  trembling  hand,  and 
rolled  it  into  a  little  ball,  clenched  her  fingers 
on  it,  dug  her  nails  into  the  flesh  of  her  other 
palm.  "You  shall  not  threaten  Senor  Presi- 
dente," she  commanded;  "I  won't  let  you."  But 
by  the  excessive  vigor  with  which  she  so  imperi- 
ously asserted  her  authority  over  him,  her  right 
to  compel  obedience,  she  confessed  a  doubt  of  her 
power  to  dissuade  him  from  a  course  of  action 
upon  which  he  was  really  determined, — and  she 
knew  it.  Besides,  in  that  Ambition,  which  always 
carried  him  far  beyond  her  influence,  was  a  mighty 
antagonist.  And  there  was  Manila, — and  its  seno- 


CHAEMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  185 

ritas—  and  the  Future  that  MUST  be  his.  "Oh 
why  must  you  always,  and  you  alone,  interfere 
with  Senor  Presidente's  plans'?  Let  another  do 
it  this  time,"  she  implored. 

The  girl's  poise,  the  wistful  anxiety  in  her  man- 
ner, the  suggestion  of  disappointment  in  her  dark 
eyes,  won  Pacifico 's  sympathy. 

"Foolish  girl!"  he  soothed.  "You  should  not 
be  so  afraid."  Then  he  reminded  her  of  his  past 
immunity  from  discovery  in  similar  attacks  upon 
the  Tyrant,  of  the  assurance  of  security  to  be 
found  in  Senor  Caronan's  well-known  policy  of 
visiting  prompt  retaliation  upon  Senor  Lasam  for 
any  injustice  to  an  americanista,  of  all  the  dan- 
gers that  had  threatened  and  cowed  the  Euler  of 
Badi. 

Perhaps  the  strength  of  his  argument  convinced 
the  girl,  perhaps  the  hopelessness  of  further  op- 
position;— and  she  loved  Pacifico, — and  dreamed 
of  the  Leader  that  he  should  be, — and  of  all  the 
other  possibilities  that  could  never  be  for  him  who 
was  utterly  disgraced.  She  hesitated  but  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Let  me  write  the  Placards,"  she  proposed, 
"as  there  is  no  shame  to  a  woman  in  a  beating. 
Who  would  assemble  to  see  a  woman  flogged! 
Possibly,  if  Senor  Lasam  should  discover  who 
had  done  it,  he  might  not  order — " 

Pacifico 's  glance  caressed,  while  it  silenced  her. 

"Let  Senor  Presidente  forget  that  Emiliana 
Danga  lives,"  he  warned,  "lest  Panfilo  again 


186  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

crave  the  daughter  of  the  ignorante  peon,  Juan 
Danga,  when  there  is  no  El  Dangeroso  to  save 
her." 

Senor  Lasam  attributed  the  Placard  to  the 
"American  Devil."  But  another  matter,  a  more 
threatening  matter,  the  prospect  of  a  direful  ca- 
lamity, occupied  his  attention,  the  attention  of  the 
American  Officials,  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the 
people.  That  matter  was  the  Threat  embodied  in 
the  beginning  of  ' '  The  Dirge ' ' ; — ' '  One  day  near- 
er!" 

Day  after  day  came  that  inevitable  report  of 
the  cholera's  approach  along  the  river.  The 
plague's  advance  was  slow,  majestic,  unerring. 
And  the  people  feared. 

Old  men  increased  the  uneasiness  by  telling  ter- 
rible tales  of  the  * '  Great  Scourge ' '  which,  twenty 
years  before,  had  harried  the  country.  Even  those 
like  Pacifico,  who  trusted  in  the  wisdom  of  the 
Americans  to  stay  the  plague,  viewed  its  approach 
with  an  alarm  that  contained  much  of  supersti- 
tion. Disquieting  tales  of  failure  came  from  Ma- 
nila, where  the  cholera  had  raged  for  months. 
Thus,  though  the  more  enlightened  doubted  the 
efficacy  of  superstition's  defenses,  they  joined  the 
great  bulk  of  the  people  in  buying  "Charms" 
and  "Amulets,"  that  they  might  escape  the  Evil 
Spirit  who  cursed  the  land. 

At  night,  fires  burned  brightly  at  every  corner 
of  the  town.  They  were  prompted  by  a  hazy  ap- 
preciation of  an  antiquated  method  of  disinfec- 


CHAEMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  187 

tion.  On  poles,  at  the  entrances  to  the  various 
homes,  were  fixed  the  skulls  of  crocodiles,  which 
guarded  off  the  Evil  Spirits  of  Plague  and  Death 
as  the  " Spots  of  Blood"  in  the  Egyptian  Cap- 
tivity of  old  had  warned  away  the  "Angel  of 
Death/' 

But  always  came  that  report,  "A  day's  march 
nearer!" 

Pacifico  had  his  "Charms."  There  was  the 
rectangular  piece  of  card-board  with  the  religious 
motto  printed  on  it  in  gaudy  red  and  yellow,  for 
which  he  paid  a  media  peseta — about  five  cents. 
He  wore  it  on  a  pink  string  about  his  neck,  and 
outside  his  clothing  that  the  Demons  might  see  it 
and  pass  him  by.  More  potent  than  this  were  the 
valuable  hidden  "Charms";  a  new  crocodile's 
tooth  in  place  of  the  old,  and  a  ring  cut  from 
crocodile  bone  and  worn  on  his  thumb.  He  had 
great  faith  in  these,  and  did  not  really  fear  the 
cholera.  Yet  that  constant,  inevitable  approach 
impressed  him. 

Every  day  the  people  waited  anxiously  for  the 
news  sent  to  the  Provincial  Capital  by  the  won- 
derful telegraph,  and  thence  to  Badi  by  courier. 
It  never  changed  from — ' '  One  day 's  march  near- 
er!" The  people  trembled  with  apprehension; 
nothing  seemed  able  to  stem  that  daily  march 
down  the  river.  Still,  when  they  saw  that  it  was 
not  yet  among  them,  they  sighed  their  relief  and 
went  about  their  tasks. 


188  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Excelencia  Cristobel,  the  enlightened 
Filipino  Governor  of  Isabela  Province,  issued  an 
"Inspired  Proclamation,'*  in  which  he  declared 
that  God  had  visited  the  cholera  upon  the  people 
as  a  well-merited  punishment  for  their  sins,  that 
it  would  be  sacrilegious  to  thwart  the  Will  of 
God,  and  in  which  he  commanded  the  people  of 
his  Province  to  disobey  the  quarantine  regulations 
of  the  American  Government  at  Manila.  Ex- 
plaining as  it  did  why  their  country  had  been  af- 
flicted with  the  plague,  it  made  a  profound  impres- 
sion upon  the  people. 

About  the  time  that  news  of  this  "Proclama- 
tion" reached  Badi,  Pacifico  began  a  bold,  spec- 
tacular, open  campaign  against  the  Tyrant,  La- 
sam.  He  interviewed  every  Ilocano  ignorante 
who  owed  his  enfranchisement  to  the  mysterious 
Placards  of  the  '  *  American  Devil. ' '  Among  these, 
was  Senor  Macasta. 

"Senor  Lasam  is  a  very  bad  man,  and  an  evil 
tyrant,"  Pacifico  began. 

"  Sh-h-h-h ! "  Senor  Macasta  warned ;  "the  walls 
may  have  the  ears  of  a  spy."  He  hastened  out- 
side to  investigate.  "Sometimes  it  is  unwise 
to  say  what  we  believe,"  he  added  upon  his  re- 
turn. 

Pacifico  recounted  in  great  and  humorous  detail 
all  the  exposures  that  Senor  Lasam  had  endured 
as  a  result  of  his  tyrannies,  and  Senor  Macasta 
laughed  at  his  memories  of  those  incidents.  Then, 
frightened  at  his  own  temerity  in  abetting  the 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  189 

ridicule  of  Ms  master,  the  old  ignorante  quaked 
the  more.  But  most  particularly,  Pacifico  laid 
stress  upon  Senor  Lasam's  dullness. 

"That  'hard-head/  that  very  thick  head!"  the 
lad  sneered.  "Why  every  town  in  the  Province 
laughs  at  him,  and  their  ridicule  extends  to  us 
who  consent  to  be  ruled  by  such  a  presidente.  A 
disgrace  to  Badi!"  he  mourned,  appealing  to  his 
race's  pride  in  the  sagacity  of  its  leaders.  "A 
shrewd  man  would  never  have  been  exposed." 

"Unh,"  Senor  Macasta  grunted,  and  hesitated 
for  a  moment.  "Much  can  be  forgiven  a  shrewd 
man,"  he  expounded. 

"And  nothing  a  dull  one,"  the  lad  added. 

"Unh,"  came  a  faint  grunt  of  assent.  Then 
Senor  Macasta  pondered  for  a  while.  "We  must 
not  let  people  of  other  towns  laugh  at  us  for 
fools.  Is  it  not  so  ?  No  If "  he  annunciated. ' '  Prob- 
ably I  shall  vote  for  Senor  Guarrin." 

Next  day,  hearing  that  Senor  Lasam  was  trail- 
ing him  with  a  very  convincing  argument,  Paci- 
fico again  visited  Senor  Macasta. 

"Have  you  heard  of  Senor  Cristobel's  *  Procla- 
mation'?" the  old  ignorante  inquired. 

Pacifico  nodded. 

Senor  Macasta  remembered  Senor  Lasam 's  un- 
answerable argument,  word  for  word,  tone  for 
tone.  With  ominous  emphasis,  he  repeated  it. 
"For  one  thing  the  plague  is  a  blessing;  it  will 
tell  us — who — have — sinned.  And  Senor  Presi- 
dente Lasam  has  the  Approval  of  God ;  our  town 


190  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

has  no  cholera.  That  is  a  Sign  from  God  that  He 
has  set  the  Seal  of  his  Approval  on  the  rule  of 
this  town;  we  have  a  good  presidente." 

"Senor  Cristobel  is  an  ignorant  fool!"  Paci- 
fico  snapped. 

Senor  Macasta  guffawed. 

11  Listen  to  the  child's  conceit!"  he  jeered. 
"Why  Senor  Excelenzia  Cristobel  was  educated  in 
Hong  Kong.  Think  of  it!  Hong  Kong!  And 
the  ignorant  infant  who  has  never  been  away  from 
his  own  town,  not  even  to  the  Provincial  Capital 
nor  to  Mapia,  presumes  to  question  his  Excel- 
lency's exalted  wisdom!"  he  ridiculed. 

Though  disconcerted,  and  convinced  that  it  was 
useless  to  reason,  against  superstition,  Pacifico 
did  not  despair  of  success ;  he,  too,  could  appeal 
to  superstition.  He  pretended  to  ponder. 

"Perhaps  it  IS  true,"  he  admitted.  "And  so 
Badi,  in  supporting  Senor  Lasam,  has  the  Ap- 
proval of  God.  But  Mapia,  in  supporting  Senor 
Caronan,  whose  policy  is  the  very  opposite  of 
Senor  Lasam 's,  also  has  the  Approval  of  God," 
he  added,  in  a  meditative  way;  "Mapia  has  no 
cholera." 

At  that  suggestion,  Senor  Macasta  wrinkled  his 
brow. 

"God  cannot  approve  of  both  Senor  Lasam  and 
Senor  Caronan,"  Pacifico  claimed. 

"Jesu!"  said  Senor  Macasta,  "it  appears  not! 
We  shall  wait  to  see  which  town  gets  the  cholera. 
That  will  decide." 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  191 

As  Pacifico  knew  that  he  had  gained  every  ad- 
vantage that  he  could  expect  at  present,  he 
dropped  the  argument.  But  mentally,  he  pictured 
a  glorious  outcome,  and  prayed  for  it; — ''If  Se- 
nor  Lasam  would  only  be  stricken  with  the  chol- 
era ! ' ' 

And  the  report  of  that  morning,  "One  day 
nearer, ' '  meant  that  the  plague  had  swept  through 
Senor  Excelenzia  Cristobel's  Province  to  the  bor- 
der of  North  Province! 

Next  morning,  word  came  that  the  cholera  had 
crossed  into  North  Province,  and  had  appeared 
in  the  Provincial  Capital. 

"One  more  day's  march  to  Badi,"  the  people 
muttered,  and  shrank  away  from  one  another. 

And  next  day? 

Senor  Macasta  went  early  to  the  river  with  his 
oil-cans  to  draw  water.  He  toiled  back  to  his 
shack  with  them  filled,  and  drank  of  the  cholera- 
laden  fluid.  Two  hours  later,  he  stood  on  the 
platform  of  his  home,  talking  to  a  friend. 

"Now  that  the  cholera  has  come  to  North  Prov- 
ince, but  has  passed  over  Badi,  we  know  that 
Pacifico  is  a  fool,"  he  sneered: — laughed, — and 
collapsed,  groaning,  upon  the  floor. 

With  a  startled  glance  of  horror,  the  friend  fled 
away,  muttering  prayers  and  beseechings  to  the 
God  he  had  forgotten  up  to  this  hour  of  fright. 
About  the  town,  he  carried  the  dread  news,  until 
he  himself  was  seized  in  the  road. 


192  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"As  God  wills  it,"  said  the  people,  and  went 
about  their  usual  routine. 

Senor  Macasta  lay  where  he  had  fallen,  writh- 
ing in  his  agony.  Ignorant  of  any  way  to  relieve 
him,  disdainful,  as  befitted  a  fatalist,  his  woman 
sat  beside  him,  chewing  her  buja,  smoking  her 
tobacco-roll,  dumbly  watching  the  body  of  her 
"lord  and  master"  shrink  under  the  touch  of  the 
disease. 

"As  God  wills  it,"  she  muttered. 

"Da-num,  da-num,"  he  shrieked. 

But  the  water  which  his  woman  brought  was 
belched  forth  with  the  vileness  that  came  from 
him.  And  the  tropical  sun  burned  down  upon 
him  in  a  murderous,  drying  rivalry  with  the 
plague.  In  another  two  hours,  the  dogs  and  pigs 
sniffed  at  the  staring,  grinning,  shriveled,  wrin- 
kled, withered  corpse.  Next  day,  his  woman  died, 
and  his  sons,  and  his  daughters. 

When  the  people  heard  of  Macasta's  death,  they 
took  it  as  a  sign  from  God  approving  of  Pacifico  's 
opposition  to  Senor  Presidente  Lasam.  But  when 
they  heard  that  the  plague  had  also  reached  Ma- 
pia,  they  were  again  thrown  into  a  quandary  of 
doubt. 

The  very  morning  after  the  cholera's  arrival, 
came  the  American  Doctor,  thin,  small,  wiry,  alert, 
and  curt, — very  curt.  With  slouch  hat  awry,  with 
blue  shirt,  khaki  trousers,  and  army  shoes 
splashed  with  mud,  he  did  not  present  a  prepos- 
sessing appearance.  Nevertheless',  rather  than 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  193 

wait  for  his  servant  to  bring  his  pony  across  the 
river,  so  that  he  could  ride,  and  thereby  keep  him- 
self as  presentable  as  he  was,  he  waded  through 
the  mud-holes  in  the  street!  Senor  Presidente 
found  him  a  domineering  man  whose  impatient 
desire  for  haste  could  be  restrained  neither  by 
many  a  soothing,  "Pacencia,  senor,"  nor  propi- 
tiatory, "Poco  tiempo,"  while  hospitable  urgings 
to  enjoy  a  drink  of  whisky,  or  of  wine,  or  of  beer, 
or  of  bino,  but  aroused  that  Senor  Doctor's  crazy 
American  temper! 

Senor  Lasam  could  not  believe  that  an  Ameri- 
can Official  would  refuse  a  drink  of  excellent 
whisky.  But  in  response  to  an  urgent  repetition 
of  the  sociable  invitation,  the  white  Doctor 's  wrath 
flared  forth  in  a  snappy,  harsh  retort. 

"You  forget  the  booze,  and  find  out  what  shacks 
have  had  cholera  in  them, — and  do  it  'pronto' — 
damned  'pronto,' ' '  the  American  ordered. 

As  Senor  Doctor  exhibited  various  indications 
of  belligerent  intentions,  Senor  Presidente  said 
many  a  solicitous,  prompt,  "Wen,  senor,"  during 
the  next  half  hour,  and  showed  even  as  much 
haste  and  activity  in  his  investigations,  under 
the  Doctor's  urgent  directions,  as  an  ignorante 
could  have  exhibited  in  executing  a  principale's 
commands. 

Senor  Doctor  left  a  set  of  rubber  gloves  with 
Senor  Presidente,  gave  directions  that  the  people 
be  informed  in  detail  of  the  proper  precautions 
for  combating  the  plague;  and  ordered  that  the 


194  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

corpses  be  buried  in  lime,  that  the  inoculated 
shacks  be  burned,  and  that  the  carabao-wallows 
in  the  roads  and  pig-wallows  beneath  the  houses 
be  filled  with  earth  to  the  level  of  the  ground. 

After  the  white  man's  departure,  Senor  Presi- 
dente  tramped  up  and  down  his  Tribunal.  Such 
exertion,  voluntarily  undertaken,  was  in  itself 
unusual.  And  in  addition,  his  chuckles  and 
cackles  added  to  the  labor  and  stress  of  his 
excitement. 

"The  corpses  must  be  buried/'  he  mumbled. 
"But  he  did  not  say  how  many  I  should  assign 
to  the  task — that  Doctor.  And" — his  eyes  glit- 
tered— "he  will  ask  Pacifico  whether  I  obey  the 
commands?  Perhaps.  And  again,  perhaps  not," 
he  sneered;  nursing  a  great  contempt  for  Senor 
Doctor's  sagacity. 

In  response  to  Senor  Lasam's  summons,  the 
people  assembled  in  the  early  afternoon.  They 
were  nervous,  yet  calm  in  the  stoicism  of  the  fatal- 
ist, and  displeased  that  they  had  been  called  from 
sleep  and  laziness  to  tramp  to  town  in  the  heat 
of  the  day.  In  awed,  respectful  silence,  they  lis- 
tened to  his  oratorical  flights,  and  carefully  sup- 
pressed any  manifestation  of  doubt  of  the  logic 
with  which  he  attempted  to  controvert  the  charges 
Pacifico  had  made  against  him.  In  conclusion,  he 
referred  at  length  and  effusively  to  the  famous 
' '  Proclamation. ' ' 

"As  God  has  inflicted  no  cholera  on  me  or  mine, 
He  has  proven  the  charges  false,"  he  triumphed. 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  195 

A  single,  bold,  deep,  rich-toned  voice  rose  above 
the  suppressed  murmur  of  the  mob. 

"Senor  Caronan  of  Mapia  has  no  cholera," 
challenged  that  voice  in  the  crowd;  "it  is  impos- 
sible for  God  to  approve  of  your  actions,  and  of 
his  also." 

Senor  Presidente  glanced  in  the  direction  from 
whence  had  come  the  words,  and  glared  balefully. 

"But  God  has  sent  the  plague  upon  those  Ilo- 
canos  who  listened  to  the  false  charges,"  he  thun- 
dered. 

1 '  Then  why  has  God  not  sent  the  cholera  to  me, 
who  accused  you?"  the  same  voice  demanded, — 
and  Pacifico  stepped  close  to  the  bamboo  band- 
stand. '  *  I  will  tell  the  people  why,  ' '  he  calmly  con- 
tinued. "It  is  because  I  have  told  them  of  your 
rascality.  My  people,  the  Ilocanos,  have  had  the 
cholera  because  they  have  refused  to  oppose  you. 
That  was  their  punishment.  But  others,  your 
friends,  will  have  it." 

Senor  Lasam  sputtered  and  fumed,  impotently, 
but  the  words  which  he  was  too  angry  to  speak 
merely  gurgled  in  his  throat.  A  full  minute  of 
terrifying  silence  passed  before  he  regained  the 
power  of  articulation.  Then  he  bawled,  triumph- 
antly, "If  I  am  wicked,  why  does  God  spare  me!" 

Pacifico  shrugged  his  shoulders.  *  *  I  don  'tkno  w, ' ' 
said  he.  "Why  does  God  spare  the  Devil?" 

The  boy  lost  himself  in  the  crowd,  which,  now 
convinced  of  Senor  Presidente 's  guilt,  roared  with 


196  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

the  daring  of  the  mob,  but  quickly  subsided  again 
into  a  tense  silence. 

Though  Senor  Lasam  worked  his  lips  vigorous- 
ly, no  sound  issued  forth.  Submissive,  he  suffered 
his  nephew,  the  excommunicated  Padre  Guillermo, 
to  lead  him  away.  But  Senor  Guillermo  returned, 
and  speaking  with  the  authority  of  the  position  he 
had  held  before  the  wrath  of  Mother  Church  had 
cut  short  his  brilliant  but  corrupt  career,  he  ad- 
dressed the  people. 

* '  There  has  been  much  misunderstanding  of  the 
'Inspired  Proclamation,7  "  he  declared;  "I  will 
explain  it."  He  paused,  that  his  remarks  might 
carry  a  full  significance. 

"Like  good  children  of  God,  you  fought  the 
Americans,  but  in  cowardice  your  hearts  grew 
weak  and  you  submitted  to  their  evil  domination. 
Then  the  Americans,  fearing  that  you  would  hear 
the  Commands  of  God,  and  arise  and  exterminate 
them,  entered  into  a  compact  with  the  Devil  for  a 
1  Charm*  with  which  to  undo  you.  And  you  al- 
lowed them  to  inflict  it  upon  you!"  he  reproached 
the  people.  "They  gathered  you  together,  and 
their  minions  went  among  you  with  keen-edged 
knives  and  the  Devil's  poison.  They  cut  your 
arms  and  put  in  your  blood  that  germ  of  coward- 
ice which  has  made  you  so  submissive  to  their 
will;  that  germ  which  they  lyingly  told  you  was 
a  'Charm'  against  smallpox.  Now  you  wear  on 
your  arms  the  White  Man's  'Mark  of  the  Devil.'  " 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  197 

The  people  glanced  at  the  scars,  and  forgetting 
that  Senor  Guillermo  also  wore  the  ''Mark,"  be- 
lieved. 

"At  last,  in  His  exasperation,  God  has  pun- 
ished you;  He  has  sent  cholera  to  you,  and  the 
'Pest*  to  your  animals." 

Listening  to  these  solemn  words,  the  people 
hung  their  heads,  and  breathed,  "It  is  the  truth." 

"And  yet  God  is  merciful  to  you.  None  but 
the  friends  of  Pacifico,  who  is  an  americanista 
and  an  ally  of  the  Devil,  have  been  afflicted.  'Why 
does  God  spare  Pacifico?'  you  wonder?  *I  don't 
know.  Why  does  he  spare  the  Devil? '  " 

The  people  standing  about  Pacifico,  drew  away 
from  him,  lest  contact  with  his  person  should 
contaminate. 

Alone,  in  the  center  of  a  wide  circle,  the  en- 
lightened lad  faced  a  populace  in  whose  animosity 
he  read  a  threat.  With  that  people  the  thralldom 
of  superstition  crushed  fact  and  reason,  and  the 
mere  authority  of  a  padre's  word,  though  he  was 
Senor  Presidente's  nephew  and  an  anathematized, 
excommunicated  priest,  would  outweigh  the 
shrewdest  argument.  Senor  Lasam's  reelection 
was  assured.  Pacifico  sighed,  and  bowed  his  head. 
Sadly,  thoughtfully,  unconscious  of  the  glaring 
mob-eyes  that  accused  him  of  responsibility  for 
God's  Judgment  upon  the  people,  he  started  out 
of  the  crowd,  which  parted  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left  before  him  and  closed  again  behind  him, 
leaving  a  wide  pathway  for  his  passage  out  of 


198  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

their  life.  At  the  edge  of  the  assemblage,  Pacifico 
paused,  and  listened  to  Guillermo's  final  state- 
ment. 

"My  beloved  children,  those  orders  of  that  'Pig 
of  an  American '  Doctor  are  the  Devil's  injunc- 
tions," he  warned.  "I  say  to  you  that  God  has 
sent  the  cholera  as  a  punishment  for  your  sins, 
and  none  but  the  guilty  will  suffer.  My  people 
you  must  submit  to  God's  Will." 

In  the  answering  murmur,  Pacifico  read  a  popu- 
lar determination  to  ignore,  persistently,  wilfully, 
the  doctor's  wise  precautions.  In  the  harsher 
tone  of  the  taunts  aimed  at  himself,  he  found  that 
which  hastened  his  homeward  flight.  The  nature 
of  the  danger  which  the  lad  sensed  became  evi- 
dent in  an  interview  between  Guillenno  and  the 
latter 's  uncle  following  the  dispersal  of  the  peo- 
ple. 

"Your  election  is  assured,"  Guillermo  declared. 

1 '  Is  it  I "  Senor  Lasam  sneered.  ' '  I  tell  you  that 
boy  has  the  wit  of  the  Devil;  the  Devil  speaks 
through  him."  His  regret  over  the  lost  oppor- 
tunity aroused  the  full  fury  of  his  wrath.  "You 
'hard-head,'  you!"  he  stormed.  "With  only  a 
hint  from  you,  the  people  would  have  torn  the 
upstart  limb  from  limb ;  he  would  have  been  out 
of  the  way.  But  I  take  my  own  measures." 

He  paused  in  his  impatient  tramping,  and  sum- 
moned El  Sargento  de  Policia. 

"Take  two  policemen,  and  go  with  them  to  get 
Pacifico  Baliuag.  Make  him  bury  the  cholera 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  199 

corpses.  NO.  Do  not  take  the  gloves.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  Will  of  God  that  Pacifico  should  get  the 
cholera,  and  we  must  not  thwart  God's  Will.  Who 
knows?"  Senor  Presidente  directed,  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders. 

Neither  El  Sargento  nor  his  men  noticed  the 
girl  who  stole  out  from  the  shadows  beneath  a 
window  of  the  Tribunal  and  fled  swiftly  ahead  of 
them  along  the  Trail  toward  Pacifico 's  home.  It 
was  only  a  Female; — to  be  ignored  by  men  en- 
gaged in  the  Affairs  of  Men.  But  a  Female  has 
no  Dignity  to  maintain  and  may  demean  herself 
with  the  exertion  of  unseemly  haste. 

So  Emiliana  ran — and  ran — and  ran. 

But  for  all  of  her  speed,  but  though  she  outdis- 
tanced El  Sargento  and  his  men,  she  did  not  over- 
take Pio. 

Pio  was  angry,  very  angry.  When  he  reached 
his  home,  he  attempted  to  cuff  his  son's  ears,  a 
good  intention  that  the  youth  frustrated  by  quick 
dodging. 

"Fool!"  the  old  man  scolded.  "For  what  do 
you  expose  us  to  Senor  Guillermo's  retaliations  by 
your  silly  talk" 

From  the  security  of  the  doorway,  Pacifico  ar- 
gued with  his  father. 

"Am  I  who  learned  so  many  things  during  the 
years  I  served  El  Dangeroso,  to  keep  silence  when 
the  lies  of  a  disgraced  priest  are  deceiving  the 
people, — to  their  hurt?"  the  lad  demanded. 


200  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Perhaps  Senor  Guillermo  remembers  what  he 
learned  when  he  was  a  priest!"  Pio  suggested. 
" Perhaps  he  knows." 

Pacifico  glanced  at  the  scar  on  his  arm,  and 
then  hid  that  "Mark"  out  of  his  sight.  Aloud, 
he  declared,  "Our  own  priest,  Padre  Antonio,  haa 
warned  us  against  the  disgraced  renegade  of  Ma- 
pia.  But  the  people  are  fools;  they  believe  Guil- 
lermo's  lies,  and  will  reelect  Senor  Lasam.  And 
they  have  forgotten  all  I  have  done  for  them,  and 
hate  me,"  he  grieved. 

"If  only  Senor  Lasam  doesn't  visit  some  ter- 
rible punishment  upon  us  for  your  opposition  to 
his  reelection,"  the  old  man  quavered,  and  trailed 
into  bitter  reproaches  of  his  son  for  risking  that 
dire  possibility. 

"Will  Senor  Lasam  chance  another  public  flog- 
ging for  his  nephew?"  the  lad  sneered.  "Senor 
Presidente  Caronan  of  Mapia  has  shown  Senor 
Lasam  the  danger  of  persecuting  me." 

Emiliana  sprang  into  the  shack.  "Pacifico!" 
she  called,  fear  vibrating  her  voice.  Discovering 
him,  she  rushed  over  to  him,  rushed  into  his  arms. 
"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  found  you  right  away,"  she 
sobbed. 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  you  if  the  people  do  turn 
against  me ! "  he  begged. 

The  reproof  in  the  girl's  large,  dark,  fathom- 
less eyes  comforted  him.  Her  fear,  lulled  for  a 
moment  by  his  presence,  welled  up  again  and  de- 
manded recognition.  She  sprang  away  from  him, 


CHAEMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  201 

crying  incoherently, ' '  Flee.  You  must.  You  must. 
It's  the  cholera.  Don't  you  understand?" 

Bewildered,  the  lad  quieted  her  with  his  em- 
brace. 

She  told  her  story,  indefinitely  but  vigorously. 
After  the  Town-Meeting,  for  reasons  of  her  own, 
she  had  hidden  in  the  shadows  beneath  the  win- 
dow of  the  Tribunal,  and  had  heard  Senor  Presi- 
dente  order  El  Sargento  to  make  Pacifico  bury  the 
cholera  corpses  without  the  gloves  that  would  pro- 
tect the  boy  from  infection.  So,  though  the  peo- 
ple along  the  Trail  had  ridiculed  her  unseemly 
haste,  she  had  run  and  run  that  there  might  be 
time  before  Senor  Sargento  came  for  Pacifico  to 
leave  for  Mapia. 

Mapia  suggested  its  presidente,  Senor  Caronan, 
suggested,  too,  his  probable  retaliations  upon  Se- 
nor Lasam  for  any  breach  of  the  Law.  Such  a 
retaliation  promised  justice.  Pacifico  laughed  his 
exultation. 

"And  I  shall  defy  their  orders,  and  once  more 
expose  Senor  Presidente  Lasam 's  illegal  tyran- 
ny," he  triumphed.  "Then  the  people  will  have 
to  believe  in  his  villainy,  and  they  will  vote  against 
him,  and  he  will  be  defeated,  and  Badi  will  have 
a  just  presidente,  like  Senor  Caronan  of  Mapia." 

"Oh,  you  must  go,"  the  girl  implored.  "Can't 
you  understand?"  she  wailed.  "The  American 
Doctor  ordered  the  burial  of  the  cholera  corpses, 
and  who  can  complain  if  the  task  is  assigned  to 
you?  Senor  Sargento  and  his  men  will  swear  that 


202  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

you  wore  the  gloves,  and  their  tortures  will  drive 
you  to  obedience,"  she  moaned.  "What  good  will 
it  do  for  me  to  tell  the  truth," — she  shivered — 
'  *  when — you — are — dead  ? ' ' 

Silenced,  the  lad  leaned  over  toward  her  and 
took  her  hand  in  his,  and  the  wistful  light  in  his 
eyes  revealed  his  longing. 

"And  when  I  have  a  place  for  you  there  in  Ma- 
pia,  will  you  come  to  me,  querissima  mia?"  his 
solemn  voice  pleaded. 

From  his  shoulder,  she  smiled  back  her  answer. 

"It  is  wonderful,  and  I  can't  understand  it," 
he  puzzled.  "It  is  wonderful  that  you  should 
choose  me  from  all  your  suitors,  for  I  have  noth- 
ing." 

"You  have  yourself,"  a  contented  voice  told 
him, 

He  looked  deep  into  the  love-light  of  her  fath- 
omless eyes,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"There  is  El  Sargento,  who  has  position  and 
a  home,  and  he  would  take  you  to  wife?"  his 
doubt  suggested. 

"And  I  despise  him,"  she  cried,  the  tremor  of 
loathing  agitating  her. 

The  lad  held  her  close.  Yet  his  jealous  fear 
prompted  one  more  torturing  hint. 

"And  there  is  the  Scout  who  has  the  food  and 
clothes  of  an  American  to  give  you?" 

She  nestled  closer  in  his  arms,  and  hid  her 
smile. 


CHARMS  OF  THE  DEVIL  203 

"And  he  would  make  me  but  one  of  many  toys, 
for  he  is  that  kind,"  she  patiently  assured 
him. 

"While  here  am  I,  who  has  nothing,  nothing  but 
the  enmity  of  the  principales,  I  who  can  give  you 
nothing  for  all  that  you  will  mean  to  me,"  he 
whispered  faintly. 

"And  I  love  you,  love  you,"  she  murmured. 

The  lad  trembled, — and  probed  for  the  last  pos- 
sible regret  that  might  mar  his  happiness. 

"But  our  people  call  you  a  fool  for  not  ac- 
cepting one  of  those  who  can  give  you  so 
much?" 

"Foolish,  foolish  boy,"  she  reproved.  "I  love 
you." 

Her  avowal  thrilled  the  lad. 

"I  will  go,  and  make  a  place  for  you  in  Mapia," 
he  exulted ;  '  *  and  we  will  escape  from  this  tyrant, 
and  be  happy." 

"We  two,  alone,"  she  whispered,  and  breathed 
a  sigh  of  content.  Then,  memory  returning,  she 
almost  screamed,  "Go.  Go.  You  must  go,"  and 
hurried  him  away  with  nothing  but  his  books  and 
a  hundred  pesos  that  should  some  day  send  him  to 
the  Normal  School  in  Manila.  Though  recollec- 
tion of  that  "Vision"  of  the  Wonderful  City  and 
its  beautiful  senoritas  still  rankled  in  her  heart, 
though  a  lingering  doubt  sometimes  tormented  her 
with  the  fear  that  this  parting  might  be  forever, 
she  urged  greater  and  ever  greater  haste  on  the 


204  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Trail,  along  which  she  accompanied  him  as  far 
as  the  river-bank. 

They  halted  above  a  casco  for  a  quick,  farewell 
kiss. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THAT   GOOGOO    HIDE  o'   YOUBN 

SENOR  JONES  swore.  But  that  was  nothing 
unusual ;  Senor  Jones  always  swore  when  ad- 
dressing the  crew  of  his  Filipino  casco,  unless 
the  stress  of  some  peculiar,  violent  emotion  de- 
prived him  temporarily  of  the  power  of  articula- 
tion. In  that  case  his  expressive  silence  carried 
more  of  a  threat  than  the  wildest  profanity,  and 
a  positive  warning  to  any  inattentive  listener. 
But  as  Senor  Jones  was,  in  the  present  instance, 
merely  puffing  and  laboring  with  his  noisy  oaths, 
Senor  Pilote  gave  his  thoughts  to  his  own  affairs. 
What  the  white  man  said,  did  not  matter;  no 
man  but  himself  could  translate  the  jumble  of 
English,  Spanish,  and  Ibanag  words  into  an  in- 
telligent command.  And  even  the  senselessness  of 
the  jabber  did  not  matter,  for  in  the  harmony  be- 
tween oaths  and  the  accompanying  gesticulations, 
Senor  Pilote  possessed  a  perfect  key  of  under- 
standing. In  fact,  he  prided  himself  on  his  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  the  significance  of  English 
curses,  as  used  by  Americans.  The  gestures  ac- 
companying Senor  Jones'  present  volubility,  in- 
terpreted in  the  light  of  a  long,  intimate  experi- 

205 


206  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

enoe  with  American  soldiers,  both  white  and  black, 
indicated  nothing  more  than  the  universal  Ameri- 
can desire  for  chicken.  Senor  Pilote  was  not 
averse  to  gratifying  that  desire,  provided  he  could 
steal  a  chicken  without  undue  exertion  or  risk, 
or  could  buy  at  a  price  that  would  allow  a  fair 
profit  for  his  trouble.  For  the  calamities  threat- 
ened in  the  American's  belligerent  oaths,  should 
he  fail  to  obtain  one,  Senor  Pilote  had  just  such  a 
respect  as  is  enforced  by  fear  of  a  "boom-boom" ; 
that  is,  he  saved  his  snickers  of  amusement  until 
he  was  out  of  his  employer's  sight.  As  all  sensi- 
ble men  know,  Americans  are  fools, — who  can 
be  appeased  by  a  lie, — wherefore  a  man  may  suit 
his  own  convenience  in  deciding  whether  to  obey  a 
command  or  not.  If  Senor  Jones  had  been  a 
Spaniard?  But  he  wasn't. 

Senor  Pilote  leaped  to  the  shore,  and  started  for 
Badi.  Scarcely  had  he  turned  from  the  river- 
bank  into  the  trail  when  he  met  a  young  couple. 
Senor  Pilote  knew  them.  Everybody  who  trav- 
eled the  river  regularly  knew  Pacifico  Baliuag, 
and  everybody  else  had  heard  of  the  ignorante  lad 
whose  five  years  of  service  with  the  illustrious 
American,  El  Dangeroso,  had  gained  him  recog- 
nition as  an  authority  on  American  Law.  The 
feud  which  this  common  ignorante  boy  had  under- 
taken against  the  powerful  Senor  Presidente  La- 
sam  of  Badi,  had  carried  the  fame  of  the  lad's 
name  from  one  end  of  the  Cagayan  River  to  the 
other,  and  beyond.  But  the  matter  which,  in  Se- 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN     207 

nor  Pilote' s  estimation,  overshadowed  all  of  Pa- 
cifico's  other  achievements,  was  his  exposure  of 
the  American  gambler,  Senor  Brown. 

Senor  Pilote  had  witnessed  that  episode.  In 
fact,  as  pilot  of  Senor  Brown's  casco  and  the  mes- 
senger who  had  spread  the  news  of  the  gambler's 
arrival  at  many  towns,  Senor  Pilote  had  witnessed 
numerous  episodes  in  which  Senor  Brown  had  fig- 
ured, and  had  acquired  an  intense  admiration 
for  the  skill  with  which  the  American  had  so  suc- 
cessfully cheated  every  famous  Filipino  gambler 
of  the  North. 

Senor  Pilote  chuckled,  but  not  at  Pacifico's  ab- 
sorbed interest  in  his  companion,  evidently  his 
woman, — nor  yet  at  memory  of  the  ludicrous  spec- 
tacle presented  by  Senor  Brown's  precipitate  es- 
cape following  his  exposure  by  Pacifico  Baliuag. 
But  the  chance  encounter  with  the  lad  reminded 
Senor  Pilote  of  a  joke,  a  real  farce.  Everybody 
believed  that  Senor  Brown  had  been  driven  from 
the  Cagayan  River,  and  had  sought  new  scenes 
for  his  operations.  But  because  Senor  Pilote  was 
the  father  of  the  gambler's  woman,  he  knew  the 
ease  with  which  a  razor  had  transformed  the  be- 
whiskered  Senor  Brown,  discredited  gambler,  into 
a  smooth-shaven  Senor  Jones,  ostensible  tobacco- 
buyer  and  expert  manipulator  of  cards. 

It  happened  that  Pacifico  and  his  companion 
chose  for  their  farewell  that  point  in  the  Trail  to 
Mapia  which  was  just  above  the  anchorage  of 
Jones'  casco. 


208  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"My-y-y,"  a  drawling  voice  jeered. 

Emiliana  sprang  back  from  the  Trail,  out  of 
the  vision  of  the  scoffer  at  sacred  things.  But 
the  boy  faced  the  sound. 

"Well  I'll  be  damned  if  it  ain't  El  Dangeroso's 
kid!"  the  voice  commented,  before  the  surprised 
pair  had  discovered  the  American.  ''Where  are 
you  going  with  the  books?" 

As  the  English  words  were  reassuring,  Pacifico 
told  him. 

"Gee!  Ain't  you  'fraid  of  the  spooks  in  the 
jungles  at  night?"  the  American  inquired,  throw- 
ing a  realistic  tremor  into  his  voice.  "Most 
Googoos  are." 

Though  the  suggestive  reference  to  the  white 
ghost-fires  of  the  jungles  was  disconcerting,  Paci- 
fico shook  his  head  in  denial. 

"Come  with  me  if  you  want  to,"  Jones  invited. 
"Bring  the  girl,  too.  I  ain't  got  no  objections." 

"She  is  not  going,  sir,"  Pacifico  explained. 

"That's  too  bad,"  the  American  mourned.  "But 
come  yourself.  I'm  dying  for  the  want  of  some- 
body to  talk  to." 

Pacifico  squeezed  the  girl's  hand,  surreptitious- 
ly,— a  man  never  shows  his  heart, — and  slid  down 
the  bank  to  the  casco. 

But  Emiliana,  with  only  the  parting  pressure 
of  her  lover's  hand  upon  her  own  to  sustain  her, 
dry  of  eye  and  with  breaking  heart,  as  is  the  ap- 
pointed lot  of  woman,  watched  his  precarious  de- 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     209 

scent  to  the  water's  edge,  watched  him  clamber 
aboard  the  boat. 

In  the  American,  Emiliana  found  an  assurance 
of  her  lover's  safety  such  as  nothing  else  could 
have  given.  No  Filipino  would  dare  attack  that 
white  man  with  his  terrible  gun,  and  no  experi- 
enced American  would  do  other  than  defy  the  na- 
tive police.  Yet  some  foreboding  depressed  her; 
not  until  she,  with  her  own  eyes,  had  seen  the 
boat  depart  with  the  lad  actually  on  board,  could 
she  feel  real  peace  and  security.  Unseen,  she 
slipped  over  to  a  clump  of  brush,  and  hid  herself. 
Then  she  sobbed,  quietly,  anxiously. 

Pacifico  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  American's 
cool,  estimating  survey  of  himself,  of  his  books, 
of  his  bag  of  pesos.  Although  the  lad  failed  to 
recognize  in  the  smooth-shaven  Jones  that  gambler 
whom  he  had  exposed,  the  white  man's  keen  ap- 
praisal increased  Pacifico 's  agitation.  Only  the 
lad's  bravado  of  manner  covered  his  diffidence, 
his  pain  at  parting  from  Emiliana,  his  sudden 
sense  of  loneliness. 

"Well,  kid,  what  do  you  know!" 

"We  have  the  cholera,  sir." 

The  gambler  laughed. 

"That's  good  news.  It'll  make  some  good  Goo- 
goos;  and  good  Googoos  is  dead  Googos,"  he 
sneered. 

Pacifico  shivered.  Perhaps  that  is  why  he  failed 
to  observe  the  cynical  smile  that  flitted  over  the 
gambler's  face. 


210  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

" Lucky  for  you  that  I  stopped  here,"  the  white 
man  remarked  in  further  greeting. 

Pacifico  glanced  at  the  man. 

"You  have  already  heard!"  he  exclaimed. 

Jones  smiled,  and  fixed  a  pair  of  steady,  hard, 
calculating  gray  eyes  on  the  boy. 

•'I  know  what  I  know,  and  I  don't  go  butting 
into  no  man 's  business, ' '  he  said.  ' '  We  '11  just  say 
it's  a  nasty  tramp  to  Mapia,  even  by  day,  and 
you're  a  lucky  kid  to  git  a  ride, — and  let  it  go  at 
that.  And  now,  kid," — he  turned  on  the  lad  and 
spoke  with  biting  harshness, — "I'm  going  to  give 
you  some  advice  I  ain't  passing  out  to  no  common 
Googoo.  You  are  gitting  it  cuz  you  was  nervy 
enuff  to  call  a  Ermericun  with  a  gun  at  his  belt, 
and  smart  enuff  to  catch  the  best  dealer  of  monte 
in  this  end  of  the  Hot  Place."  He  paused  an 
impressive  moment,  that  the  unsuspicious  lad 
might  recall  the  incident,  and  appreciate  the  full 
measure  of  respect  his  courage  had  won  from  a 
White  Man,  from  an  American.  "I  takes  a  man 
the  way  I  finds  him,  and  I  asks  no  questions ; — but 
if  he  tries  to  explain  hisself  and  his  doings  when 
I  ain't  asked  him  nothing,  I  takes  it  for  granted 
that  he  is  lying." 

Though  Pacifico  pondered  long  on  this  advice, 
though  an  American  stood  sponsor  for  its  value, 
he  failed  to  grasp  an  idea  so  foreign  both  to  his 
training  and  to  his  experience.  Rather,  the  im- 
plied suspicion  proved  too  galling  for  his  endur- 
ance. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN     211 

"Senor  Presidente  Lasam,  who  is  my  enemy, 
issued  orders  that  I  bury  the  cholera  corpses 
without  any  protection  against  the  disease.  Emi- 
liana  Danga  overheard.  Senor  Lasam  wishes  to 
kill  me  because  my  opposition  to  his  reelection  as 
presidente  was  threatening  his  defeat.  But  Emi- 
liana  warned  me,  and  I  am  going  to  Mapia,  where 
Senor  Caronan  is  my  friend,'*  the  lad  explained. 

" That's  what  you  say,"  the  American  chal- 
lenged. "Remember,  I  ain't  asking  you  no  ques- 
tions." 

"It  is  the  truth,"  the  lad  hotly  rejoined.  "Senor 
Lasam  always  lies,  as  everybody  knows." 

"That's  what  you  say,  and  I  admit  you  have  it 
on  him  to  the  extent  that  his  reputation  ain't  none 
too  good,"  the  white  man  retorted.  "But  I'm  ask- 
ing you  a  question  now.  What  you  got  in  the 
hand-sack?" 

Pacifico  hesitated.  But  his  experience  with  his 
American  friends,  both  teachers  and  officials,  had 
taught  him  the  futility  of  lying  to  an  American. 
Besides,  Americans  were  not  thieves,  like  Goo- 
goos. 

"A  hundred  pesos  out  of  the  money  my  father 
was  saving  to  send  me  to  the  Normal  School  in 
Manila,"  he  answered;  "I  took  that  and  my  books, 
because  I  may  earn  the  rest  in  Mapia  if  Senor 
Caronan  will  aid  me." 

Senor  Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
changed  the  subject. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me,  kid,"  he 


212  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

drawled.  "I'm  wondering  if  my  men  kin  git  any- 
thing to  eat  in  this  hole." 

Pacifico  mastered  his  resentment  at  the  Ameri- 
can's implied  judgment,  and  stifled  his  desire  to 
defend  himself. 

"I  think  so,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"Hope  so.  This  country  is  the  hottest,  first 
edition  of  the  other  place  I  ever  see.  No  booze, 
nor  nothing  fit  for  a  white  man  to  eat,  no  decent 
calercos, — and  I  ain  't  saying  that  that  little  maid 
o'  yourn  ain't  all  to  the  good, — and  nothing  but 
Googoos.  Rice  and  Googoosl  I'm  sick  of  it! 
Be  flogged  if  my  men  ain't  got  a  chicken!" 

Though  Pacifico  recognized  the  fowl  as  one  of 
his  father's  gamesters,  though  the  boatman  swore 
many  lurid  oaths  in  convincing  the  American  that 
it  was  not  purloined,  though  Jones,  when  he  paid 
their  claim,  feelingly  appealed  to  the  lad  to  wit- 
ness the  manner  in  which  googoo  servants  grafted 
on  their  employers,  Pacifico  left  his  suspicions  un- 
voiced. 

"I  bin  living  on  rice  and  the  rotten  fish  you  call 
begung.  The  Googoos  think  a  white  man's  fool 
enuff  to  pay  them  more  for  a  thing  nor  it's  worth. 
A  white  man  can't  buy  nothing  from  a  Googoo,  if 
he  won't  be  robbed,"  the  American  grumbled.  "I 
guess  I  ain't  got  no  kick  to  make,  if  them  Goo- 
goos collects  a  little  silver  salve  for  the  chance 
they  takes  when  they  swipes  a  chicken.  Kin  you 
cook,  kid?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     213 

"Wish  you'd  git  that  chicken  fixed,"  the  gam- 
bler requested;  "I  want  to  enjoy  it,  and  I  must 
say  I  ain't  hankering  to  have  them  bugadores 
do  no  cooking  for  me.  Can't  tell  what  disease 
they  got.  Them  things  on  that  feller  MAY  be 
boils.  I  don't  think  so.  Anyhow,  I  ain't  han- 
kering to  find  out." 

Eager  to  oblige  the  man  whose  protection  might 
mean  so  much  to  him,  Pacifico  slid  down  the  bam- 
boo wickerwork  covering  of  the  boat  to  the  bam- 
boo extension  just  above  the  surface  of  the  water, 
and  walked  to  the  earthen  fire-box,  blew  up  the 
flame,  and  set  upon  it  an  earthen  pot  filled  with 
water.  Preparing  the  chicken  and  cooking  it 
brought  to  his  mind  vivid  recollections  of  El  Dan- 
geroso.  Tears  dimmed  Pacifico 's  eyes.  Yet  he 
was  hopeful.  To  him,  all  Americans  were  alike, 
just,  reliable,  and  kind;  and  he  felt  that  meeting 
this  one  insured  his  safety  and  was  an  omen  of 
future  good  luck.  Instinctively  he  recognized  a 
difference  between  this  new  friend  and  all  the 
Americans  he  had  known,  a  distinction  that  puz- 
zled him,  although  he  did  not  stop  to  analyze  it. 

Jones  was  subject  to  an  even  greater  perplexity, 
a  perplexity  so  great  that  neither  his  admiration 
for  the  skill  and  cleanliness  of  his  chance  cook, 
nor  the  anticipation  of  the  pleasure  the  coming 
meal  would  give  him,  could  take  his  mind  off  the 
vexatious  problem. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  the  hundred  pesos,  I'd  swal- 
low the  kid's  story,"  he  grumbled,  "cuz  the  rest 


214  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

of  it  hangs  together  all  right, — having  the  books, 
and  no  clothes,  and  all.  But  who  ever  heard  of  a 
igurante,  a  common  roust-a-bout  field-laborer  sav- 
ing a  hundred  pesos !" 

Jones  jumped  off  the  boat  and  tried  to  walk 
himself  into  forgetfulness  of  the  situation. 

' l  Old  '  Dangerous '  was  a  mighty  wise  guy  when 
it  came  to  sizing  up  a  Googoo,"  he  muttered, 
"and  old  ' Dangerous*  always  had  a  good  word 
for  the  kid.  And  'His  Porcininity'  Senor  Lasam, 
is  the  worst  they  make  out  in  this  hole — and  that 
is  the  worst  agoing.  If  the  kid  is  telling  the 
truth?  If  he  is,  he  is  in  mighty  bad,  cuz  Por- 
cininity  will  stack  the  cards  of  the  Law  Game  so 
as  the  kid  won't  git  a  show  for  his  life." 

Jones  dismissed  the  unpleasant  thought  from 
his  mind  with  a  "  'Tain't  my  muss,"  climbed 
back  on  the  casco,  lit  a  cigar,  and  called,  "How's 
the  grub?" 

"It  will  be  ready  pretty  soon,"  Pacifico  prom- 
ised. 

"Damned  willing  to  help  a  white  man  out," 
Jones  admitted,  "and  the  kid  can't  help  being  a 
Googoo.  He  is  sure  the  whitest  Googoo  I  ever 
see !  And  smart ! ' ' — Jones  paused  in  his  mumbled 
eulogy  long  enough  to  smile  at  the  recollection 
of  the  figure  he  himself  had  made  on  that  memo- 
rable day  when,  sprawled  on  all  fours,  he  had  slid 
down  the  river-bank  to  the  security  of  his  boat 
after  the  exposure  by  this  same  ignorante  lad. 
"Even  if  I  was  careless  from  working  it  on  noth- 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN    215 

ing  but  Googoos  for  so  long,  it  took  a  smart  one 
to  catch  me  on  that  slipping  a  card  in  the  deal," 
he  boasted.  * '  And  the  kid  done  it,  fair  and  square. 
And  had  the  nerve  to  turn  the  laugh  on  *  His  Por- 
cininity'!  Gawd!  If  the  damned  igurante  has  had 
the  guts  to  buck  Senor  Lasam's  reelection!"  he 
exclaimed,  awe  subduing  his  voice.  *  *  Wish  I  knew 
about  them  hundred  pesos,  cuz  we  got  to  be  mov- 
ing damned  quick  if  I'm  going  to  help  the  kid  make 
his  git-a-way!"  He  puzzled  over  the  situation. 
"But  it's  the  grit  of  the  little  Googoo  that's  got 
me,  just  his  Ermericun  grit  what  I  seen  myself. 
He  ought  to  git  a  chance,  and  it  would  be  a  hell 
of  a  joke  on  old  Porky  Lasam.  Believe  I'll — " 

A  voice  from  the  bank  hailed  them. 

"Buenas,"  it  said. 

* '  And  who  are  you  ? ' '  Jones  belligerently  bawled 
in  Spanish,  believing  he  was  dealing  with  the  vic- 
tim of  his  employee's  pilfering  raid. 

El  Sargento  of  Badi,  high  above,  came  to  a 
respectful  "attention"  when  he  noticed  the  white 
man. 

"El  Sargento,  senor,"  he  replied. 

Pacifico  dropped  his  knife.  Unheeded,  it  sank 
in  the  river.  Poised,  tensed,  he  waited — for  the 
American  to  decide  his  fate. 

Jones  was  guarded  in  the  presence  of  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  despised  Law,  though  only  a  Goo- 
goo  representative.  His  respect  for  such  an  agent 
rose  from  a  knowledge  of  the  Manila  Govern- 
ment's fondness  for  persecuting  such  self -satis- 


216  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

fied  Americans  as  defied  its  Googoo  agents.  And 
a  Googoo  policeman  was  a  policeman! 

In  the  presence  of  Constituted  Authority,  feared 
and  respected  with  such  an  intensity  as  three  cen- 
turies of  Spanish  tyranny  had  fostered  in  her 
race,  Emiliana  trembled.  Fascinated  by  her  ter- 
ror of  what  might  happen,  she  watched  El  Sar- 
gento.  But  he  issued  no  belligerent  commands; 
he  only  stood  on  the  bank  and  parleyed  with  some 
one  on  the  casco,  and  seemed  none  too  anxious  to 
approach  the  edge  of  the  bank.  His  inactivity, 
his  nervous  timidity,  restored  the  girl's  confidence, 
confirmed  her  assurance ; — and  she  laughed.  The 
better  to  enjoy  the  hated  Sargento's  discomfiture, 
she  crept  nearer  the  river's  edge. 

"What  do  you  want?"  Jones  inquired. 

When  El  Sargento  discovered  Pacifico,  and 
found  the  American  disposed  to  talk,  an  expres- 
sion of  relief  appeared  on  his  face.  Pointing  to 
the  lad,  he  said,  "I  must  arrest  him,  senor,  for 
he  is  a  criminal." 

Pacifico  glanced  at  the  farthest  shore,  at  the 
dark  water  between,  and  once  again  at  the  Ameri- 
can. 

Jones'  hand  slipped  to  his  belt. 

"That  is  nothing  to  me,"  he  drawled;  "I  ain't 
stopping  you  from  doing  your  duty." 

Though  Pacifico  still  trembled  in  apprehension, 
THAT  movement  reassured  him.  Perhaps  the 
American  would  grant  his  protection ! 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUBN     217 

"Will  you  send  him  off  the  casco,  senor f  It 
will  be  a  great  favor,"  said  El  Sargento. 

The  gambler  carelessly  examined  the  chambers 
of  his  revolver. 

"Come  and  get  him,"  he  invited.  "I  ain't 
stopping  you." 

The  words  throbbed  through  Emiliana's  brain, 
and  crushed  her  with  the  agony  of  despair.  But 
El  Sargento  merely  shifted  his  weight  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  and  talked  in  whispers  with  his 
companions.  His  inaction  left  her  with  a  pitiful 
shred  of  hope.  She  clung  to  it,  and  crept  farther 
out,  crept  almost  beyond  the  edge  of  the  brush. 
And  then  El  Sargento  again  turned  toward  the 
American. 

"He  is  fleeing  from  the  Laws  of  the  American 
Government,  senor,"  the  Filipino  entreated,  his 
voice  trembling  in  anticipation  of  possible  punish- 
ment by  Senor  Presidente  Lasam  for  allowing  Pa- 
cifico  to  escape. 

"That's  nothing  to  me.  Come  and  get  him," 
was  the  laconic  reply;  "I  ain't  stopping  you." 

How  the  words  tortured  the  girl! 

She  peered  down  over  the  bank; — and  barely 
restrained  the  exultant  cry  of  her  soul. 

That  terrible  "boom-boom,"  oh  so,  so  careless- 
ly twirled  on  a  finger,  frequently  pointed  right 
at  Senor  Sargento  and  emphasized  the  quality  of 
the  invitation,  "Come  and  get  him;"  and  the 
hardened,  bino-lined  face,  the  most  beautiful  white 
face  Emiliana  had  ever  seen,  leered  its  contempt 


218  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

for  Senor  Sargento's  courage;  and  the  derision  in 
the  dissipated  voice,  the  sweetest  she  had  ever 
heard,  openly  taunted  and  defied  that  Power  which 
her  people  feared.  With  such  wonderful  bulwarks 
to  guard  her  lover's  safety,  she  knew  that  life 
was  beautiful  and  God  was  kind.  Nevertheless, 
she  threw  herself  on  the  ground,  while  the  rack- 
ing sobs  shook  her. 

"  Senor  Presidente  will  report  you  to  the  Amer- 
ican Government — " 

The  gambler's  amused  laugh  interrupted. 

"To  hell  with  the  Government!  Come  and  get 
him,"  he  invited. 

Once  more,  El  Sargento  studied  the  six-shooter 
— the  terror-inspiring  ''boom-boom."  He  did  not 
accept  the  invitation,  but  betook  himself  and  his 
men  upon  a  hasty  retreat  to  Badi  in  search  of  re- 
enforcements. 

And  behind  them,  Emiliana  trilled  and  sang  on 
her  way  across  the  tobacco-fields  to  her  father's 
shack. 

"Googoos  ain't  got  no  nerve,"  Jones  sneered  to 
the  lad. 

"Did  you  mean  to  kill  him?"  Pacifico  breathed. 
Jones-  turned  upon  the  boy  a  face  the  expression 
of  which  was  not  pleasing. 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  fool!  You  ain't  nothing  to 
me,"  the  man  drawled,  cool  and  hard. 

"I  thought,"  Pacifico  began,  but  lapsed  into  a 
meditative  silence. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN     219 

"I  just  bluffed  him  off,  kid.  I  wouldn't  kill 
him  for  no  damned  Googoo.  I  ain't  hankering  to 
git  hung  for  killing  a  Googoo,"  Jones  explained. 
"But  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  run  a 
bluff  on  him,  and  bluffs  git  cowards." 

Pacifico  was  greatly  puzzled  by  the  apparent 
contradictions  in  Jones '  attitude. 

"Now  I  got  myself  in  a  muss,"  Jones  grumbled. 
"But  I  got  to  stick  by  you  now,  kid,  and  we  got 
to  make  our  git-a-way  from  here  as  soon  as  that 
lazy  Senor  Pilot'  gits  back." 

Jones  paced  up  and  down  on  the  bamboo  walk- 
way. Consciousness  of  the  serious  nature  of  the 
escapade  grew  upon  him  with  the  rapid  decrease 
in  the  stimulation  he  had  felt  while  enjoying  the 
intimidation  of  El  Sargento.  The  Government  at 
Manila  had  hunted  out  and  punished  many  an 
American  for  interfering  with  the  native  police 
when  attempting  to  arrest  genuine  fugitives  from 
justice.  "If  you've  give  me  crooked  dope  on  that 
hundred  pesos,  kid,  and  I'm  in  bad  for  helping  a 
Googoo  thief  to  make  his  git-a-way,  there 's  going 
to  be  some  flayed  Googoo  on  this  boat,"  he  threat- 
ened, '-'and  don't  you  forgit  it,  cuz  you'll  be  elect- 
ed for  the  Googoo."  Jones  strained  his  eyes  in 
an  effort  to  catch  some  glimpse  of  Senor  Pilote 
on  the  trail  to  Badi.  "Anyhow,"  he  muttered, 
"it's  a  safe  bet  that  Senor  Pilot'  kin  make  it  out 
from  the  town  before  another  lazy  Googoo  kin 
make  it  both  ways. ' '  He  walked  over  to  Pacifico. 
* '  Googoos  are  worthless, ' '  he  growled. 


220  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Why,  sir?"  Pacifico  tremblingly  demanded, 
anxious  to  humor  the  white  man's  less  bellicose 
mood. 

"Cuz  they're  lazy.  That's  why,"  Jones 
snapped.  "They  don't  do  nothing, — no  work.  All 
a  Googoo  kin  do  is  sleep,"  he  sneered.  "Sleep 
the  whole  damn  time!  Just  look  at  that  Senor 
Pilot'!  Been  gone  long  enough  to  make  two 
trips ! ' ' 

Pacifico  had  no  desire  to  risk  an  argument, 
under  present  circumstances,  but  felt  that  an  an- 
swer was  expected. 

"It  is  the  'Custom'  of  the  country,"  he  replied. 
"And  so  why  should  the  people  work  more  than 
they  do?" 

"To  git  things." 

The  boy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"They  have  all  they  need,  sir;  they  can  get  no 
more  than  that." 

Jones  snorted,  and  then  sneered. 

' '  Give  a  Googoo  lots  of  sleep,  a  woman,  a  fight- 
ing-cock, a  little  rice  and  rotten  fish  to  eat,  and  a 
dilapidated  shack  to  sleep  in;  give  him  them 
things,  and  he  don't  give  a  damn  for  nothing  else. 
HELL!" 

Pacifico  was  silenced. 

While  they  were  eating,  Senor  Pttote  returned. 
His  appearance  aroused  Jones  to  action.  The 
gambler  jumped  to  his  feet,  swore  eloquently, 
and  gesticulated. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     221 

Senor  Pilote  stared,  but  not  because  close  obser- 
vation would  more  clearly  interpret  antics  the 
familiarity  of  which  left  no  doubt  of  their  mean- 
ing. Senor  Pilote  resented  being  imposed  upon 
by  a  lunatic.  And  certainly  the  labor  of  his  long 
tramp  about  the  town  with  the  news,  "An  Amer- 
ican travels  on  my  casco,  who  loses  many  pesos 
when  he  deals  monte,  and  we  have  tied  up  for 
the  night  below  the  barrio  of  Andaman,"  would 
be  wasted,  if  Senor  Pilote  obeyed  the  crazy  order 
to  cast  off.  And  the  infliction  of  useless  labor  IS 
an  imposition,  a  lunatic's  joke! 

Senor  Pilote  protested.  But  though  the  con- 
sistency in  limiting  his  speech  to  the  one  dialect 
he  knew,  maintained  both  the  unity  and  coherence 
of  his  thought,  Senor  Jones  treated  his  argument 
with  the  contempt  one  bestows  on  the  unintelligi- 
ble. 

"He  says,"  Pacifico  translated  to  the  Ameri- 
can, "that  the  many  people  who  gather  here  to- 
night for  the  promised  monte  game,  will  regard  it 
as  a  very  bad  joke.  For  many  months,  he  will  be 
afraid  to  stop  at  Badi." 

"You  damned  fool!  Do  you  want  to  bury  them 
cholera  corpses?"  Jones  sneered.  He  paused,  un- 
til a  full  appreciation  of  that  alternative  had 
cowed  the  lad.  "I  hopes  you  give  me  the  truth, 
kid,  cuz  if  you  ain't,  I  takes  it  out  of  yur  hide 
for  gitting  me  in  bad  with  the  Googoo-loving 
Government  at  Manila, ' '  he  growled.  l '  You  'd  bet- 
ter bibirramu  sense  to  them  durar-cabezas,"  he  ad- 


222  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

vised,  "and  talk  it  damned  pronto  or  them  ' hard- 
heads* will  never  git  going. " 

Pacifico  understood.  Eagerly,  he  explained  to 
the  angry  pilot  that  his  defense  of  the  common 
people's  rights  in  Badi  against  Senor  Presidente 
Lasam's  impositions,  had  earned  the  vengeance  of 
that  powerful  Official ;  told  of  the  sentence,  prac- 
tically a  death  penalty,  from  which  Senor  Jones 
wished  to  aid  his  escape.  As  a  fellow  Ilocano  the 
lad  appealed  to  the  tribal  loyalty  of  the  crew  for 
their  assistance. 

The  bugadores  shouted  their  approval.  The 
prospect  of  thwarting  a  hated  presidente  appealed 
to  the  wilder  instincts  of  these  free  rovers  of 
the  river,  and  they  faced  the  labor  involved  in 
the  addition  to  the  day's  travel  with  the  same 
indifference  that  would  have  marked  the  theft  of 
a  chicken,  a  fight  with  the  men  of  a  rival  casco 
for  the  right  of  way  along  the  river-bank,  any  in- 
cident of  their  trade.  Survivals  of  an  occupation 
which  required  physical  strength  and  endurance, 
patience,  genuine  industry,  an  occupation  which 
developed  in  an  equal  degree  impatience  of  re- 
straint and  disregard  for  legal  restrictions,  those 
half -nude  brown  men  were  more  apt  to  resist  the 
capture  of  the  accused  victim  by  any  pursuing 
authority  than  was  the  American.  And  Senor  Pi- 
lote  did  not  reprove  them,  neither  for  their  haste, 
nor  for  the  disrespect  shown  himself  by  their  as- 
sumption of  independent  initiative  in  casting  off 
without  waiting  for  the  orders  of  their  chief. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     223 

Seated  on  the  bamboo  extension,  two  on  a  side 
in  the  bow  and  one  on  a  side  amidship,  with  their 
short  handled  oars  tied  to  the  foot-rail,  they 
rowed  and  floated  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  at  which  point  the  pilot  headed  the  casco 
with  the  current,  and  the  bugadores  settled  to 
their  work.  The  short  strokes  of  their  paddles, 
dipped  almost  vertically  into  the  water,  were 
scarcely  more  than  jerks,  yet,  with  sharp  spasms, 
the  boat  gathered  headway.  And  when  the  buga- 
dores slackened  their  efforts,  the  gambler  urged 
them  on. 

' '  Tuc-uan,  hombres,  tuc-uan, ' '  he  yelled.  * '  Row 
— fellers, — damn  you! — tuc-uan." 

Pacifico,  his  eyes  moist,  watched  the  passage  of 
the  familiar  scene,  flat  and  bare,  which  lost  itself 
in  the  precipitate  West  Coast  Range.  The  strip 
of  pampas-grass  swamp  along  the  other  bank, 
seemed,  from  the  river,  to  stretch  itself  to  the 
Sierra  Madre  Range  of  the  East  Coast.  A  single 
file  of  trees  formed  a  border  between  the  white 
of  the  plumes  and  the  haze  of  the  hills. 

A  cock  crew.  El  Pilote's  bird,  which  was  teth- 
ered to  the  bpjnboo  covering,  hurled  back  a  lusty, 
defiant  challenge.  And  the  pilot,  who  was  stretched 
out  comfortably  on  the  roof  of  the  shack  at  the 
stern,  with  the  massive  tiller  in  one  hand,  reached 
out  and  petted  the  gamester  fondly. 

A  couple  of  washer-women  squatting  in  the 
river  with  only  their  heads  and  knees  above  the 
water,  floated  by.  The  gambler's  ribald  jests 


224  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

hailed  them.  They  stopped  the  ceaseless  flaying 
of  dirty  clothes,  sank  lower  into  the  water,  re- 
moved their  tobacco-rolls  from  their  mouths,  and 
hurled  back  at  the  American  compliments  at  least 
as  expressive,  as  vile,  as  contemptuous,  as  descrip- 
tive as  those  he  gave.  This  exchange  of  humor- 
ous repartee  won  the  laughing  approval  of  the 
bugadores. 

The  casco  approached  and  passed  the  watering- 
place  of  a  barrio.  There,  men  led  their  ponies  to 
drink,  or  filled  the  five-gallon  oil-cans  with  water 
for  use  in  their  homes.  One  drove  a  whistling, 
laboring,  tired  carabao  up  the  bank.  Another 
tried  to  restrain  a  carabao  plunging  down  the 
steep,  yielding  bank  to  join  the  group  which,  im- 
mersed in  the  water,  looked  out  from  calm, 
pleading  eyes  over  the  river  and  snored  their  con- 
tent. 

The  casco  floated  by  in  dignified  silence,  the 
bugadores  disdaining  to  answer  the  questions  of 
the  crowd  on  shore. 

A  wail,  like  a  child's,,  startled  the  gambler, — 
and  he  glanced  around  uneasily.  But  the  plaintive 
cry  was  only  the  call  of  a  distant  carabao  to  its 
mate,  or  to  its  young. 

A  dog  on  the  bank  high  above,  snarled  at  them. 

Pacifico  was  absorbed  in  the  interest  of  his  new 
surroundings.  He  was  eight  miles  from  home! 
The  wonder  of  it!  The  wonder  of  so  many  new 
things  to  see ;  carabaos,  dogs,  ponies,  men  that  he 
did  not  know  personally  and  by  name;  shacks, 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0>  YOUEN     225 

barrios,  clumps  of  trees,  and  fields,  of  which  he 
had  never  heard:  the  marvels  of  the  big,  wide 
world!  His  eyes  shone  with  his  pleased  excite- 
ment. 

And  Jones,  who  had  been  observing  the  lad, 
muttered  to  himself,  "Damned  if  I  don't  believe 
eight  miles  is  more  to  the  kid  nor  eight  thou- 
sand is  to  me!" 

The  American  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye. 

In  the  "West,  the  Mountains  shrouded  their 
heads  in  the  defiant  storm-clouds.  Along  the 
ragged  peaks,  a  sparkling  red  sun  rolled  in  a  yel- 
low sea  of  fire.  The  clouds  poured  over  it.  Here 
and  there,  a  star  twinkled  weakly  in  a  deep,  blue 
haze.  The  red  flame  of  the  cloud-consuming  fire 
shot  venomously  into  the  heavens,  and  scorched 
with  its  brilliancy  the  fast-appearing  points  of 
luminous  light.  But  night  was  the  ally  of  the  soft, 
mellow  lights,  and  the  flames  were  quenched.  The 
ashes  and  debris  of  the  clouds  sank  low,  and 
flowed  over  the  earth.  The  fire  within  them 
flashed,  and  streaked  their  rushing  advance,  and 
the  explosions  of  their  hoarded  power  boomed 
and  echoed  ominously  over  the  earth.  Night  and 
the  shower  were  coming. 

The  American  turned  to  speak  to  the  boy.  Pa- 
cifico  was  crying. 

A  casco  going  up  the  river  crept  along  the 
bank.  Throwing  their  whole  strength  on  the  long 
poles,  the  steel  spike-tips  of  which  clutched  the 
clay  at  the  water's  edge,  its  bugadores  tugged  and 


226  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

strained  and  toiled  for  a  gain  of  inches  against 
the  current. 

After  the  " Custom  of  the  Land,"  Senor  Pilote 
yelled,  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"Ca-uay-an"  was  the  reply,  given  with  the 
grin  of  one  who  knows  what  to  expect. 

"Jesu!"  Senor  Pilote  laughed  derisively;  "that 
is  much  work!"  And  his  crew  joined  in  the  ridi- 
cule of  the  toiling  bugadores  on  the  up-bound 
boat. 

Never  mind !  The  forbearance  of  the  suffering 
laborers  under  the  taunts  of  their  luckier  fellows, 
will  have  its  reward  when  they  are  down-bound 
and  can  laugh  at  those  straining  against  the  cur- 
rent. They  have  undoubtedly  registered  a  vow  to 
remember  the  casco  of  Pilote  Juan  Tangan,  son  of 
the  Pilote  Hermojenes  Tangan. 

Above  the  Upper  Bar,  Pilote  Juan  tied  up  to 
the  bank  for  the  night.  The  bugadore  who  had 
been  bailing,  at  once  cooked  the  rice  and  begung. 
The  remains  of  the  chicken  which  Pacifico  and 
the  gambler  had  had,  made  a  welcome  addition  to 
the  meal  of  the  bugadores.  It  was  just  that  they 
should  have  it;  when  the  American  had  had  no 
food,  they  had  given  him  of  theirs,  unappetizing 
as  it  may  have  been  to  him,  and  they  had  cooked 
for  him  since  his  servant  had  died  of  the  cholera. 

Opposite  them,  a  casco  without  cargo  arid  riding 
high,  came  to  a  halt  in  its  rush  down  the  river. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  a  voice  hailed  from 
the  darkness  of  mid-stream. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     227 

To  Pacifico,  it  was  a  well-known  voice,  a  voice 
that  sent  the  shivers  creeping  up  his  spine. 

"El  Sargento  of  Badi,"  he  chattered  in  warn- 
ing. 

With  every  appearance  of  indolence,  Senor  Pi- 
lote  and  his  men  climbed  to  their  feet,  and  looked 
out  over  the  shielding  wicker-work.  But  each 
clutched  in  his  hand  a  pole  the  murderous  steel- 
tip  of  which  fascinated  the  trembling  lad. 

' '  Ca-uay-an, "  Senor  Pilote  lied,  naming  the  far- 
thest up-river  point.  And  as  soon  as  he  might  rea- 
sonably be  expected  to  have  discerned  the  absence 
of  lights  on  the  other  boat,  he  exclaimed,  "Jesu! 
the  pirates!  They  show  no  lights !" 

At  the  threat  in  that  challenge,  El  Sargento, 
who  desired  no  delay  and  no  useless  squabbling 
with  belligerent  boatmen,  exposed  the  light.  The 
faint  illumination  revealed  the  casco's  cargo; — 
members  of  the  Municipal  Police  Force  of  Badi. 

"How  long  since  a  casco  with  an  American 
passed?"  El  Sargento  bawled. 

After  questioning  his  crew  in  very  audible  tones, 
Senor  Pilote  hazarded  the  guess,  "Not  more  than 
half  an  hour  ago." 

"Gaining,"  El  Sargento  exulted,  and  the  pursu- 
ers raced  on  to  the  North,  El  Sargento' s  urgent 
"Tuc-uan,  hombres,  tuc-uan,"  growing  fainter  and 
fainter. 

But  not  until  the  river  was  silent  again  did  the 
crew  throw  down  their  poles  and  return  to  their 
interrupted  meal. 


228  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Jones,  swearing  maledictions  upon  Pacifico  and 
the  noisy  boatmen,  crawled  out  from  beneath  the 
wickerwork  covering. 

"Googoos  kin  kick  up  one  awful  fuss  about  noth- 
ing," he  sneered;  "I  suppose  each  bunch  knows 
the  state  of  the  health  of  the  other  gang's  grand- 
mothers. Honest,  kid,  what  was  them  Googoos 
gossiping  about?" 

As  Pacifico  was  too  agitated  to  take  up  the  cud- 
gels in  behalf  of  his  people,  or  to  explain  the  real 
danger  that  had  threatened,  the  argument  died 
unborn. 

After  the  bugadores  had  eaten,  they  gathered 
around  the  gambler  with  many  a  prayerful  re- 
quest that  he  bank  a  game  of  monte  and  deal  for 
their  sole  benefit. 

Even  the  humor  of  winning  back  from  the  crew 
at  night  what  they  had  stolen  from  him  by  day 
through  increasing  the  charges  for  purchases,  did 
not  tempt  Senor  Jones  to  undertake  the  prepara- 
tions necessary  for  the  successful  manipulations 
of  the  cards,  and  the  value  of  the  petty  pilferings 
offered  no  incentive.  Besides,  the  isolation  of  the 
casco  precluded  any  possibility  of  the  men  squan- 
dering their  small  change.  On  the  next  night,  an 
anchorage  at  some  town  would  permit  a  regular 
game,  in  which  the  boatmen  could  contribute  their 
copper  wealth,  at  the  same  time  tempting  the  cov- 
etous local  gamblers.  It  might  have  been  worth 
while  if  the  men  had  not  already  lost  all  of  the 
ten  pesos  which  each  received  in  pay  for  the  round 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUBN    229 

trip  of  from  five  to  nine  weeks.  But  to  go  to  so 
much  trouble  for  a  little  change!  Senor  Jones 
emphatically  refused. 

The  bugadores  still  persisted. 

If  any  one  of  them  had  had  any  money, — 
Jones  hesitated, — say  a  hundred  pesos? — He  whis- 
tled. 

"It  might  be  did,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  and 
gave  Pacifico  a  most  careful  scrutiny. 

"A  hundred  pesos  would  pay  me  for  what  I 
lost  by  making  the  git-a-way  from  Badi  after  Se- 
nor Pilot'  had  the  suckers  a-coming  for  to-night," 
he  reasoned,  "and  I'd  be  mighty  proud  of  myself 
if  I  could  make  that  kid  play  the  come-on  guy 
after  the  way  he  showed  me  up  that  time." 

Jones  laughed. 

"Anyhow,"  he  argued,  "no  Googoo  kin  keep 
the  coin,  and  I  might  as  well  have  that  hundred 
pesos  as  let  the  kid  lose  it  to  some  guy  as  ain't 
did  nothing  for  him.  Besides,  it's  bad  for  his 
morals  to  git  the  benefit  of  stolen  goods,"  he 
chuckled. 

Jones  nodded  a  grudging  assent  to  the  persis- 
tent importunities,  and  followed  the  bugadores 
inside  the  wickerwork  covering. 

A  smoking  lantern,  hung  above  the  space  be- 
tween the  two  divisions  in  which  the  cargo  was 
loaded,  cast  a  flickering,  tantalizing  light.  Though 
the  heat,  humid  and  thick,  was  almost  insufferable 
to  the  white  man,  the  boatmen  found  in  the  fasci- 
nation of  the  prospective  game  a  delightful  pana- 


230  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

cea  that  transformed  the  oppressive  surroundings 
into  a  pleasant  retreat. 

Pacifico  watched  the  play  with  anxious  interest ; 
he  wanted  his  new  friend  to  win.  But  luck  was 
against  the  white  man. 

tl  Perhaps  your  luck  is  unpropitious  to-night. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  to  wait  until  to-mor- 
row," the  lad  suggested. 

"Perhaps,"  the  gambler  agreed, — and  went  on 
losing. 

The  Filipinos  were  delighted. 

"Luck  is  with  us,"  they  exulted,  forgetting  that 
it  had  been  so  every  night.  "Place  a  bet,"  they 
advised  Pacifico. 

"Better,"  the  American  urged.  "This  is  the 
chance  to  win  enuff  for  going  to  Normal  School 
in  Manila." 

Pacifico  shook  his  head. 

"Easiest  money  you  ever  see,  kid,"  Jones  hint- 
ed. "Normal  School  in  Manila  will  never  be  no 
nearer." 

Pacifico  shook  his  head  slowly. 

Jones  paused  in  dealing. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  sneered,  every  unpleasant  im- 
plication imaginable  in  the  tone  of  his  voice. 
"Them  hundred  pesos  ain't  yourn,  and  you're 
afraid  of  what  the  bugadores  will  think."  Then 
he  turned  to  the  crew,  and  openly  ridiculed  Paci- 
fico. "The  poor  kid  is  a  'Poverty-Stricken,'  " 
he  explained. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     231 

Though  none  of  the  boatmen  could  understand 
the  English  worded  taunt,  it  had  the  desired  effect 
on  the  lad  at  whom  it  was  aimed.  Pacifico  dug 
his  hand  beneath  his  shirt.  With  a  flourish,  he 
placed  a  bet  of  ten  pesos.  And  though  he  won. 
Jones  smiled. 

"Ten  of  them  pesos  you  need,  kid,"  Jones 
droned. 

Again  Pacifico  won,  and  the  bugadores  indicated 
their  desire  to  follow  the  play  of  the  lucky  plun- 
ger. 

" Twenty  pesos,"  Jones  muttered,  "but  I'd 
ruther  see  the  kid  git  it  for  Normal  School  in 
Manila  than  to  have  the  Googoos  winning  the 
plunks. ' ' 

The  gambler  opened  his  strong  box,  scooped 
out  another  handful  of  pesos,  and  clattered  the 
coins  on  the  deal-board. 

Pacifico 's  eyes  sparkled  a£  sight  of  the  silver 
wealth.  Cupidity  allied  with  his  initial  success 
captured  his  reason,  and  he  surrendered  to  the  fas- 
cination of  the  gambling  frenzy.  For  a  time,  he 
won  more  often  than  he  lost ; — and  when  the  luck 
did  change,  occasional  successes  tantalized  him 
with  the  hope  that  another  change  of  luck  would 
restore  at  least  the  amount  of  his  losses.  He 
bet  larger  amounts,  and  more  recklessly. 

Because  the  night-shower  broke  over  the  casco 
and  rattled  on  the  cover  just  as  the  American 
began  to  win,  the  Filipinos  regarded  it  as  the 
omen  which  had  shifted  the  luck.  The  shower 


232  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

did  not  last  long,  scarcely  longer  than  Pacifico 's 
hundred  pesos. 

"With  scarcely  a  regret,  the  lad  saw  his  last 
coin  go.  He  did  not  understand  why  he  seemed 
to  care  so  little.  Only  he  was  interested  in  noth- 
ing;— nothing  but  a  new  sense  of  strangeness,  a 
depressive  sense  of  unreality. 

Discussing  the  vagaries  of  the  ''little  god  of 
luck,"  the  bugadores  crawled  out  into  the  night. 
As  many  as  could  lay  on  the  roof  of  the  pilote's 
shack,  slept  there,  while  others  found  a  bed  along 
the  curved  top  of  the  covering.  One,  whom  his 
fellows  would  not  allow  near  them,  slept  on  the 
bamboo  walk-way  just  above  the  surface  of  the 
water. 

As  best  he  could  in  the  cramped  quarters  within 
the  boat,  the  American  stretched  out  on  a  bale 
of  tobacco.  Opposite  him  lay  Pacifico. 

Soon  all.  was  quiet  but  for  the  grumbling  voice 
of  the  white  man,  cursing  the  heat,  the  hardships 
of  the  country,  the  people.  At  last,  even  he  was 
still.  Only  the  bugadore  on  guard  occasionally 
broke  the  intense  silence,  as,  between  hasty  naps, 
he  bailed  out  the  water. 

Pacifico  watched  the  stars.  Their  laughing, 
peaceful  calm  mocked  him.  He  sobbed  softly  to 
himself.  What  mattered  it  if  the  tobacco-bale 
which  the  American  cursed  were  a  soft  bed !  What 
mattered  it  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  that  Free- 
dom and  Equality  of  Opportunity  which  he  had 
craved!  What  mattered  any  thing !  Nothing.  Not 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN    233 

even  the  loss  of  the  hundred  pesos  which  were  to 
have  opened  so  many  prospects,  mattered.  They 
were  not  home.  Home?  Home?  He  doubted  if 
he  had  ever  known  such  a  thing  as  that  word 
suggested,  if  home  were  more  than  a  picture  of 
a  fevered  brain.  He  wondered  if  any  one  in  the 
whole,  wide  world,  so  vast,  so  terrible  in  its  un- 
known possibilities,  if  any  one  among  the  number- 
less people  of  earth  cared  for  him.  His  mother 
and  father?  He  almost  screamed.  Would  his 
enemies  forget  him?  He  feared  that  they  would 
hunt  him  out.  He  was  learning  the  torture  in- 
flicted by  a  keen  imagination  during  the  solitude 
of  night.  "Oh,  Jesu,  Jesu!"  he  breathed.  Emi- 
liana?  Perhaps  she  made  it  worth  while !  A  little 
peace  entered  his  soul. 

Pacifico's  tossings  disturbed  Senor  Jones. 

"The  kid  is  nothing  but  a  damned  Googoo, 
nohow,"  he  swore,  "and  I'm  just  going  loco  for 
thinking  of  taking  a  bite  of  the  kid's  story,  and 
believing  it's  real  cake.  Hell!  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  igurante,  a  common  Googoo,  with  guts  enuff  to 
buck  a  Senor  Presidente  in  the  open,  the  way  the 
kid  says  he  done !  And  Lasam  is  a  bad  one !  La- 
sam  is  all  a  white  man  wants  to  buck; — and  me 
and  him  is  going  to  have  another  row  some  day. 
But  the  kid  ain't  no  white  man;  his  hide  is  as 
brown  as  the  blackest  Googoo 's, — and  no  Googoo 
is  got  any  business  to  have  a  hundred  pesos.  The 
yarn  has  got  on  my  nerves,"  he  reassured  himself. 
"Me  for  the  snooze." 


234  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Hours  later,  Pacifico's  eyes  fell  on  a  log  float- 
ing toward  the  caseo.  He  could  see  but  an  end 
of  it.  Fascinated  by  its  lifelessness,  he  stared 
at  it.  It  floated  alongside.  Suddenly,  it  lifted 
itself  over  the  extended  bamboo  walk-way,  above 
the  unconscious  bugadore  sleeping  there.  Hor- 
ror strangled  Pacifico's  shriek.  The  Thing's 
mouth  opened,  and  the  battle-array  of  needle- 
like  teeth  upon  the  pink-white  field  snapped  into 
the  victim.  The  man's  death  scream  gurgled 
through  the  water  that  rushed  into  his  mouth  as 
the  crocodile  sank  to  the  bottom  with  its  feast. 

The  cry  aroused  the  boat.  A  glance  at  the  place 
where  their  comrade  had  lain  told  the  bugadores 
the  nature  of  the  tragedy.  Fear  possessed  them. 

Pacifico  joined  their  wailing.  And  when  at  last 
they  said,  "As  God  wills  it,"  and  again  sought  a 
troubled  slumber,  he  marveled.  But  the  phan- 
toms which  he  conjured  out  of  the  darkness  kept 
his  tossings  company. 

Peace  came  only  with  the  first  paling  of  the 
night.  Unconscious  of  the  scene's  beauty,  the  lad 
watched  the  blackness  of  the  eastern  sky  melt  into 
the  dawning  day,  until  the  last  shadow  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  fire  of  the  approaching  sun.  Like 
a  dotted  mask,  the  night  and  its  stars  rolled  back, 
and  the  sun  crawled  above  the  clouds  beyond  the 
Sierra  Madre  Range.  It  was  day. 

With  the  mere  promise  of  day-light,  the  buga- 
dores aroused  from  their  uneasy  sleep,  and,  de- 
pressed, ate  their  rice  and  begiwg,  and  got  under 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN     235 

way,  but  it  was  not  until  the  sun  was  three  hours 
high  that  they  forgot  the  ill  omen  of  the  night. 

At  about  the  same  time  the  heat  drove  the  Amer- 
ican from  his  lazy  lolling.  Swearing  vigorously, 
he  came  out  to  suffer. 

"What  made  the  racket  last  night?"  he  yawned. 

Pacifico  stared  at  him. 

"A  crocodile  ate  one  of  the  men,"  he  explained. 

Jones  laughed. 

"No  importa,"  said  he.  "A  dead  Googoo  is  a 
good  Googoo." 

Pacifico  shivered,  and  lapsed  into  a  meditative 
silence.  This  American  was  certainly  different 
from  others  the  lad  had  known;  at  one  moment, 
the  white  man  seemed  heartless  and  inconsiderate, 
while  the  next,  some  kindness  to  the  boy  contra- 
dicted that  estimate. 

The  gambler's  voice  interrupted  Pacifico 's  rev- 
erie. 

" What  you  got  to  eat?" 

"Bice  and  begwng,  sir.    I  saved  some  for  you." 

Jones  grunted  his  disgust. 

"No  more  rotten  fish  in  mine,"  said  he. 

Such  scorn  for  the  consideration  he  had  tried 
to  show  hurt  the  boy,  and  he  subsided. 

Together,  they  squatted  on  the  wicker-work  cov- 
ering, the  sun  overhead  burning  down  on  them. 
Not  a  cooling  breath  rippled  the  surface  of  the 
river.  All  nature,  all  life  was  exhausted.  The 
squeak  of  the  oars  alone  broke  the  silence. 


236  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"The  kid — ain't — no — welcher,"  the  inanimate 
sticks  creaked,  dinning  a  word  with  eveiy  jerk. 

Jones  swore,  and  promptly  denied  the  impres- 
sive indifference  with  which  the  lad  had  taken  the 
loss  of  his  money. 

Careless  of  the  close  humidity,  Pacifico  went  to 
sleep  like  a  wise  Filipino  and  escaped  the  torture 
of  the  heat. 

The  white  man  sat  in  the  sun  until  his  Back 
burned  and  his  head  felt  as  though  it  had  swelled 
to  the  point  of  explosion.  Seeking  relief  beneath 
the  cover,  he  found  but  a  closer,  hotter,  tobacco- 
laden,  fish-stinking,  musty  furnace; — and  fell  out 
of  it  almost  at  once  into  the  relief  of  the  parch- 
ing heat.  Weak  and  hungry,  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  walk-way.  Though  he  failed  to  feel  the 
coveted  stir  of  air,  the  exercise  occupied  his  mind. 
He  tore  off  his  clothes,  sticky  with  perspiration, 
but  the  sun  dried  the  vitality  out  of  his  skin,  and 
he  put  them  back  on  again.  He  dangled  his  bare 
feet  in  the  water  until  they  were  sun-burned.  Then 
his  socks  scoffed  his  feet,  and  he  cursed  himself 
for  a  fool. 

"The  kid — ain't — no — welcher,"  dinned  the 
oars. 

"I'm  sure  seeing  things,"  Jones  muttered; 
"even  a  smart  Googoo  is  nothing  but  a  Googoo." 
He  hesitated.  "But  the  kid  didn't  squeal  when 
I  took  them  pesos  away  from  nim ; — he  ain't  acted 
like  he  cared  for  'em  enuff  to  steal  'em,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "If  they  was  hissn,  and — I  S 'posing  he 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN    237 

did  have  the  guts  to  buck  old  Porky  Lasam?  It 
ain't  the  smartness  what  gits  me,  but — he — lost — 
them — pesos — like  a  white  man!  Oh,  hell,  I'm 
sure  seeing  things ;  a  Googoo  is  just  a  Googoo ! ' ' 

The  hot,  moist  air  jerked  into  his  lungs,  scorched 
his  throat.  And  when  the  pain  of  his  puckered, 
leathery  tongue  rasping  over  a  leather-like  palate 
became  unendurable,  he  stretched  himself  out  on 
the  bamboo  extension  and,  with  his  face  buried  in 
the  river,  sucked  in  great  gulps  of  the  murky  wa- 
ter. Cholera?  Dysentery?  Such  trifles  did  not 
matter. 

Storm  clouds  herding  rapidly  together  in  the 
east  beyond  the  Sierra  Madre  Range  attracted  his 
attention.  They  welled  up,  higher  and  higher, 
vibrating  in  a  slow,  rhythmic  majesty,  and  hurled 
themselves  against  the  impassive  mountain  bul- 
wark, which  threw  them  back  defeated.  Time  and 
again,  they  attacked  the  barrier  in  a  rolling  rush, 
unavailingly.  But  the  rocky  dam  succumbed  at 
last  to  a  mightier  effort,  and  the  storm  poured 
into  the  valley.  When  its  showers  reached  the 
gambler,  he  stood  out  in  them,  welcomed  the  cool- 
ness of  their  enveloping,  liquid  sheets. 

Through  the  rain,  purring  over  the  river's  sur- 
face and  rattling  on  the  bamboo,  came  the  regu- 
lar squeak  of  the  oars,  impassive: — "The  kid — 
ain't — no — welcher!"  The  showers  passed.  And 
still  came  that  regular  squeak,  impassive,  dinning 
the  judgment; — "Grit — makes — an  Ermericun — 
what — don 't — squeal. ' ' 


238  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

A  sudden  jar,  as  the  casco  crunched  into  the 
sand,  threw  the  gambler  flat  on  his  face  and 
sprawled  the  bugadores  into  the  river. 

"The  Middle  Bar  has  shifted,"  El  Pilot e  cried. 
"Quick,  to  the  work." 

The  men  sprang  back  onto  the  boat  and  rushed 
for  their  poles.  Each  man  in  his  own  place,  they 
drove  the  steel  teeth  of  the  slender  poles  into 
the  bed  of  the  river,  flung  the  knob  of  the  free 
ends  against  their  bare,  knotted  shoulders, 
clenched  their  toes  upon  the  cleats  across  the  bam- 
boo walkway,  clasped  their  hands  about  the  foot- 
rail,  and,  at  word  from  Senor  Pilote,  dove  down 
on  the  poles,  straining  mightily  in  a  vain  effort  to 
back  the  casco  off.  When  the  third  effort  failed, 
they  began  the  laborious  work  of  see-sawing  off 
the  bar. 

Jones  stared  his  surprise. 

"Them  fellers  is  sure  a-working!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Didn't  think  a  Googoo  could  git  sich 
a  move  onto  hisself  I" 

It  was  four  hours  before  they  had  freed  the 
casco,  and  the  pilote  had  picked  a  cautious,  snaky 
course  over  the  bar,  the  bugadores  poling.  Then 
they  tied  up  to  the  bank  for  a  merited  rest,  and 
to  eat ;  but  chiefly  to  rest,  for  bugadores  must  row, 
and  a  pilote  must  steer,  even  when  a  casco  floats 
down  the  river. 

"If  the  kid  did  buck  'His  Porcininity'  of  Badi 
the  way  he  says  he  done!"  Jones  pondered.  "I 
ain't  got  no  use  for  old  Lasam;  he's  a  bad  one." 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN     239 

When  they  were  well  under  way  again,  Pacifico 
discovered  a  straggling  flotilla  of  miniature  boats 
and  bamboo  rafts. 

"The  sacrifices,  sir,"  he  cried. 

"Where?  What?"  the  American  questioned, 
showing  but  a  languid  interest. 

"Floating  down  the  river,  sir.  Coming  this 
way,"  Pacifico  excitedly  answered,  pointing  to- 
ward them. 

"What  are  them  for!" 

"My  people  are —  You  call  it  superstitious? 
Yes.  They  believe  that  God  has  sent  the  Demons 
of  Cholera  to  punish  them  for  their  sins.  So  the 
Governor  of  Isabela  Province  issued  a  Proclama- 
tion. To  appease  the  wrath  of  the  Spirit  of  Wa- 
ters, through  whom  God  has  visited  the  Cholera 
Demons  upon  us,  Senor  Excelenzia  Governor  Cris- 
tobal ordered  the  people  to  make  sacrifices.  Every 
day,  at  night  time,  my  people  send  out  little  boats 
and  rafts,  filled  with  many  offerings  for  the  Spirit 
of  the  Waters.  There  are  rice  and  begung,  and 
roasted  pig  and  eggs  delicious  with  the  young 
chicken,  that  the  Spirit  may  feast.  There  is  bino 
to  drink,  and  candles  to  give  light,  and  money  to 
buy  many  things.  All  these  my  people  offer  to 
appease  the  Spirit  of  the  Waters." 

"I  do  not  believe  in  that  superstition,  sir.  Yet 
it  is  true  that  my  people,  who  have  been  faith- 
ful in  sending  forth  many  offerings,  have  had  less 
cholera  than  the  Tagalogs  of  Manila.  But  I  do 
not  believe  the  superstition." 


240  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"The  hell  you  don't,"  the  American  drawled. 

Pacifico  looked  foolish,  and  Jones  laughed. 
Which  made  Pacifico  wonder  if  the  American, 
through  his  race's  uncanny  power  of  discovering 
secrets,  knew  that  he  had  made  his  own  offerings.. 

"That  proves  you're  a  Googoo,"  Jones  sneered; 
"just  a  damned  igurante."  Jones  breathed  freely 
once  more; — and  thanked  the  "god  of  Luck"  for 
the  gratifying  revelation,  for  this  fortunate  set- 
tlement of  all  his  doubts. 

The  bugadores  hailed  the  advent  of  the  fleet 
with  shouts  of  delight.  They  intercepted  the  boats 
and  rafts,  one  after  another,  and  despoiled  them 
of  their  cargoes. 

Silently,  amazed,  horrified,  Pacifico  watched  the 
desecration  of  the  sacred  gifts. 

And  when  they  approached  Mapia  late  that  af- 
ternoon, the  crew  were  careless  of  lifers  priva- 
tions. Were  they  not  drunk  with  much  and  varied 
bvnof  Were  not  their  bellies  full  of  suckling  pig 
and  ancient  eggs?  And  did  they  not  have  extra 
copper  clackers  to  lose  to  the  American  at  night? 
Blessed  with  the  ennui  of  satiety,  they  amused 
themselves  by  smashing  whatever  straggling 
crafts  they  met,  nor  did  they  longer  bother  to  re- 
lieve them  of  more  than  the  copper  coins. 

Thus  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Waters  appeased. 

' '  Almost  to  Mapia.  You  'd  better  drop  the  bluff, 
kid,"  Jones  advised.  "You  kin  stick  to  this  cas- 
co,  and  we  '11  make  a  clean  run  to  the  Coast  with- 
out stopping  for  no  games  at  night,"  he  offered. 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN    241 

"I  kin  smuggle  you  aboard  a  steamer  at  Lalloc, 
or  at  Aparri,  and  you  kin  make  a  clean  git-a-way 
from  this  Province  to  Manila,"  he  pointed  out  as 
an  advantage  of  the  plan.  He  hesitated; — he 
wanted  to  know  for  a  fact,  wanted  to  reassure 
himself  of  the  justice  of  his  final  conclusion,  want- 
ed to  ask  one  question; — but  a  life-time  of  con- 
forming to  his  own  standards  of  courtesy  over- 
powered his  undue  curiosity.  "  You  ain't  a  white 
man, — just  a  Googoo, — but  I  ain't  asking  you  what 
you  done,"  he  boasted;  "I'm  taking  a  chanct  that 
it  ain't  too  bad,  and  I'd  take  a  chanct  any  day 
to  put  one  over  on  old  Porky  Lasam  of  Badi. 
Shall  I  tell  Senor  Pilot'  to  run  by?" 

Unheeding,  Pacifico  stared  ahead  at  his  Land  of 
Promise, — at  Mapia, — at  the  Domain  of  Senor 
Presidente  Caronan,  the  shrewd,  wily,  sinister 
Caronan  whose  ignorantes  loved  him.  Though 
the  Town  gave  to  the  oppressed  Freedom  and  Op- 
portunity, though  it  held!  Hope,  some  depression 
shadowed  the  lad. 

Jones  signaled  the  "pilot"  to  swing  back  into 
the  current  of  the  river. 

"It's  putting  one  over  on  'His  Porcininity' 
Lasam,  and  revenge  is  sweeter  nor  Googoo  pe- 
sos," he  argued  with  cupidity;  "we'll  miss  the 
pickings  for  a  couple  of  nights,  and  make  Porky 
Lasam  cuss." 

"Mapia,  sir?"  the  lad  questioned,  pointing  to- 
ward the  landing. 

Jones  stared. 


242  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"The  telegraph  is  quicker  nor  any  boat,"  he 
warned;  "last  night,  every  town  in  the  Province 
got  the  word  to  keep  a  watch  for  you.  They'll 
be  waiting  for  you  at  the  landing,  and  it'll  be 
back  to  Porky  Lasam  to  face  the  music." 

Pacifico  laughed. 

"Senor  Presidente  Caronan,  the  americanista, 
rules  in  Mapia,"  he  exulted,  "and  the  *  hard-head' 
Lasam  of  Badi  has  felt  the  retaliation  of  the  saga- 
cious Caronan, — and  submitted  to  it;  Senor  La- 
sam will  not  arouse  Senor  Caronan." 

The  lad's  seeming  lack  of  comprehension  per- 
plexed Jones.  "Smart  enuff  to  catch  me,  even  if 
I  was  careless,  and  too  dense  to  see  his  chanct!" 
he  puzzled.  "Them  two  don't  jibe."  He  shook 
his  head.  Once  again,  he  tried  to  make  the  dan- 
ger plain.  "S 'posing  that  casco  with  the  Badi 
police  is  at  the  Landing  waiting  for  you?  S 'pos- 
ing they  arrests  you?" 

Pacifico  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' '  Let  them, — if  they  dare, ' '  he  sneered.  ' '  Senor 
Caronan  rules  in  Mapia,  and  he  is  my  friend.  In 
Mapia,  there  will  be  witness  for  witness,  blow  for 
blow,  until  the  American  Doctor  comes  again,  and 
he  will  know  that  my  story  is  true.  And  when  I 
have  told  the  Americans  how  Senor  Lasam  or- 
dered all  the  people  to  ignore  the  Doctor's  wise 
precautions  for  suppressing  the  cholera?" — the 
lad  laughed,  mirthlessly.  "I,  alone,  opposed  Se- 
nor Lasam 's  reelection, — and  I  have  fled." 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN    243 

Jones  flopped  down  on  the  bamboo  wicker-work 
for  support,  and  studied  this  strange  specimen  of 
Googoo.  The  gloom  which  the  stress  of  excite- 
ment had  driven  from  the  boy's  face,  again  set- 
tled upon  him. 

"Grit,  just  sand,  is  what  makes  a  white  man, 
leastwise,  a  Ermericun,"  Jones  muttered,  "and 
the  kid  is  browner  nor  many  a  Googoo.  The 
damned  Googoo  knowed  what  a  igurante  is  up 
against  when  he  bucks  a  presidente;  he  runned 
away  from  what  was  coming  to  him.  But  Gawd ! 
If  the  Googoo  did  have  the  guts  to  buck  old  Porky 
Lasam ! ' ' 

Jones  ordered  Senor  Pilote  to  make  the  land- 
ing. 

"I'll  just  put  the  kid  up  against  it  for  fair,  and 
call  his  bluff,"  he  grinned. 

Gloomier,  sadder,  more  strained  grew  the  lad's 
face. 

Such  a  strange,  strange,  lonesome  landing- 
place  ! 

"Want  to  land,  kid?"  Jones  inquired. 

Pacifico  nodded  assent. 

"You  real-ly  mean  it?"  Jones  persisted  in  ques- 
tioning, his  skepticism  dragging  out  the  words. 

Turning  his  back  in  order  to  hide  a  single  tear 
that  crept  down  his  nose,  Pacifico  nodded  again. 
Then  once  more,  he  stared  forlornly  at  the  un- 
familiar Landing,  which  bounded  both  his  Refuge 
from  Senor  Lasam 's  vengeance  and  his  Exile  from 
friends,  and  home,  and  kindred,  and  sweetheart. 


244  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Thinking  of  them  hundred  pesos,  and  Normal 
School  in  Manila,"  Jones  concluded,  "or" — Jones 
avoided  formulating  the  picture  of  the  other  alter- 
native, the  picture  of  what  Porky  Lasam's  dia- 
bolical plan  for  revenge  would  have  brought  upon 
one  courageous  enough  to  expose  his  tyrannical 
impositions  on  the  people.  "Grit  is  what  makes 
a  Man,  and  the  kid  is  a  Googoo  Nigger,"  Jones 
argued.  "This  river  life  is  gitting  me ;  no  Googoo 
has  got  that  much  nerve.  The  kid '11  forgit  his 
bluff  when  he  sees  'em  waiting  for  him." 

Jones  sprang  to  his  feet,  pointed  toward  the 
extra  policeman  at  the  Landing,  and  exclaimed, 
"He  is  waiting  for  you,  kid." 

Pacifico  nodded  his  head,  choked  back  his  emo- 
tions, and  his  subdued  voice  explained,  "It  doesn't 
matter,  sir;  that  is  Senor  Caronan's  Sargento  de 
Policia." 

Jones  fell  back  and  stared  at  the  enigma.  His 
eyes  followed  the  quiet,  self-contained  boy's  prep- 
arations to  leave,  preparations  that  now  amounted 
only  to  the  collection  of  his  books. 

"  'Tain't  them  pesos;  the  damned  kid  ain't 
thinking  of  the  pesos,"  voiced  the  gambler's  sur- 
prise at  the  error  in  his  conclusions.  "The  river 
sure  has  drove  me  loco,"  he  mumbled.  He  leaned 
over  the  walk-way  and  soused  his  head  in  the  wa- 
ter. "The  kid  give  me  the  truth  of  it;  he  took 
it  out  of  old  Porky  Lasam ! "  he  sputtered. ' '  Gawd ! 
Gawd!  Gawd!"  he  muttered,  as  he  crept  under 
the  bamboo  wicker-work  covering,  "GRIT,  just 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOURN    245 

SAND,  is  what  makes  a  white  man ! ' '  Above  the 
clatter  and  fuss  of  making  fast  at  the  Landing, 
above  the  jabber  of  orders  and  replies,  sounded 
the  melodious,  clinking  tone  of  silver  pesos. 

Pacifico  jumped  to  the  shore. 

"Hold  on,  kid,"  Jones  called.  " Ain't  you  for- 
gitting  them  pesos  o'  yourn?" 

Pacifico  stared  at  the  white  man. 

"My  pesos,  sir?"  he  questioned.  Then,  his 
mind  grasping  the  intent  of  the  American's  offer, 
he  shook  his  head,  and  smiled.  "I  staked  them 
against  pesos  that  I  would  have  kept,  sir,  and 
you  won  them  in  a  fair  deal,"  he  declined. 

The  gambler's  face  brightened. 

"You  mean  you  won't  take  back  no  money  what 
you  lost — in — a — fair — deal?"  he  questioned. 

Pacifico  missed  the  emphasis  on  the  words,  "In 
a  fair  deal." 

"Certainly  not,"  he  stated. 

Jones  chuckled,  and  followed  the  lad  to  the 
shore. 

"You're  a  smart  one,  kid,  and  so  I'm  proud  of 
myself,"  he  exulted.  "But  you  gotta  take  them 
pesos,"  he  insisted,  shoving  a  small  coin-sack  into 
the  lad's  unresponsive  hands. 

Pacifico 's  resentment  at  the  insult  expressed  it- 
self in  the  vigor  with  which  he  threw  the  bag  on 
the  ground. 

Jones  laughed. 

"Aw,  that's  a'  right,  kid.  When  I'm  wearing 
whiskers,  I'm  Brown,  the  guy  you  showed  up  in 


246  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Badi  one  night,  and  when  I  ain't  got  none,  I'm 
Jones,"  he  explained,  "and  Brown  or  Jones,  I'm 
a  bear  for  skinning  the  damned  Googoos,  like  a 
Christian  ought  to  skin  'em,"  he  confessed.  "But 
when  it  comes  to  a  white  man,  it's  different;  I 
ain't  never  done  no  white  man  dirt,  kid,  and  it's 
nothing  but  GRIT,  just  SAND,  what  makes  a 
white  man,  and — well — I  guess,"  he  floundered, 
"I  guess  Gawd  A 'mighty  must  've  slipped  with 
the  cut  of  the  cards  when  He  flipped  a  White  Man 
into  that  Googoo  Hide  o'  yourn.  Gimme  your 
paw,"  he  demanded. 

With  a  strange  mixture  of  feelings,  Pacifico 
watched  the  casco,  the  last  link  between  his  old 
life  and  the  new,  sweep  out  into  the  current, — 
turn  down  stream, — and  shoot  around  the  bend  in 
the  river. 

From  mid-stream,  the  American  bawled,  "Play 
it  square,  kid,  and  don't  go  blowing  on  me.  I  got 
to  make  a  living, — skinning  Googoos. ' ' 

The  words  of  that  request  carried  clearly  across 
the  water,  but  Jones'  final  message  floated  as 
faintly  as  a  lover's  whispered  caress,  so  rapidly 
did  the  boat  move.  Pacifico  scarcely  heard  the 
warning, ' '  Caronan  knows  how  I  love  Lasam.  You 
had  better  tell  the  little  runt  I  give  you  them  pe- 
sos for  bucking  old  Porky  Lasam.  Then  Skinny 
won't  git  no  suspicions  about  a  igurante  having  a 
hundred  pesos,  like  I  done." 

El  Sargento  of  Mapia  picked  up  the  bag  of 
coins,  and  handed  them  to  the  new  arrival.  His 


THAT  GOOGOO  HIDE  0'  YOUEN     247 

avaricious  eyes  measured  the  dimensions  of  the 
sack,  estimated  the  value  of  its  contents. 

With  the  incriminating  ''circumstantial  evi- 
dence" under  an  arm,  Pacifico  plodded  dubiously 
toward  Senor  Caronau's  Tribunal. 


CHAPTER  XD3 

THE  ELDEST  OP  THE  SLAVES 

ON  their  way  back  to  Badi,  El  Sargento  and 
the  Policia  buried  the  cholera  corpses,  that 
their  industry  might  appease  Senor  Presidente's 
wrath  with  them  for  permitting  Pacifico's  escape. 
Before  departing  on  a  casco  in  pursuit  of  the  lad, 
they  drank  much  cooling  water.  Later  the  same 
night,  Panfilo  quenched  his  thirst  from  the  oyer 
that  the  three  had  used, — and  laid  down, — and 
died.  His  elder  brother,  Guillermo,  discovered  the 
interpretation  of  the  plague's  eccentricities. 

'  *  So  God  punishes  even  those  whose  example  in 
attending  the  American  School  misled  their  peo- 
ple," he  mourned,  for  the  benefit  of  whomever 
might  harbor  resentment  for  such  evil  guidance. 

Emiliana  did  not  see  El  Sargento  and  his  men 
bury  the  corpses,  nor  did  she  hear  of  the  pursuit 
that  failed,  nor  did  she  know  that  Senor  Sargento, 
before  he  died  with  the  cholera,  had  reported  to 
Senor  Presidente  Lasam  and  in  the  presence  of 
Guillermo,  that  she  had  warned  Pacifico  and  had 
aided  the  lad's  escape.  So  she  spent  the  next 
morning  in  dreaming  of  her  love  and  in  glancing 
out  of  the  window  with  anxious  solicitude.  A 
thought  of  Guillermo  never  occurred  to  her. 

248 


THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES  249 

Senor  Presidente's  disgraced  nephew  had 
shown  his  interest  in  her.  For  that,  she  hated 
him  even  more  fervently  than  she  did  his  brother, 
Panfilo,  although  the  attentions  of  both  were 
equally  obnoxious  to  her.  Yet  Guillermo's  man- 
ner was  the  more  repulsive. 

But  if  Emiliana  had  known  all  there  was  to 
know  when  she  first  saw  her  father,  Senor  Presi- 
dente,  and  Guillermo  coming  toward  her  home, 
she  might  have  obeyed  the  instinct  which  prompt- 
ed her  to  seek  refuge  in  as  far  a  flight  as  possi- 
ble. As  it  was,  her  hatred  for  the  two  prospec- 
tive visitors  was  so  much  stronger  than  her  in- 
herent respect  for  the  authority  which  they  rep- 
resented, that  she  avoided  her  proper  duties  as 
hostess,  and  sprang  out  of  the  window,  scarcely 
waiting  to  kick  the  tobacco  leaves  out  of  the  way 
and  upon  the  pile  in  the  corner  of  the  bare  room. 

Trembling  for  fear  the  men  would  discover  her 
discourteous  ruse,  she  hid  among  the  pigs  until 
her  father  and  his  guests  had  filed  into  the  house. 
Then  she  stole  under  the  shack,  and  squatted  be- 
neath that  corner  in  which  the  pile  of  tobacco 
leaves  covered  the  openings  between  the  bamboo 
slats  of  the  floor. 

"I  have  come  to  talk  about  the  terms  of  my 
mortgage  on  your  crop,"  Senor  Presidente  ex- 
plained. 

"Wen,  senor,"  the  ignorante,  Juan,  agreed. 

Emiliana  knew  that  her  father  trembled.  She 
did  herself.  Terms  which  steadily  increased  the 


250  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

amount  of  their  debt,  in  spite  of  privations  and 
efforts  to  reduce  it,  could  become  no  more  oner- 
ous tban  they  were.  A  change  in  the  present 
terms  could  mean  nothing  but  an  intention  to  dis- 
possess them.  The  girl  jglanced  at  the  rich,  fast- 
maturing  crop  of  tobacco,  upon  which  the  family 
had  built  so  many  hopes.  Though  she  wanted  to 
cry  out  in  protest  against  the  injustice  of  fore- 
closure, she  blinked  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and 
controlled  herself. 

"You  are  so  lazy,  Juan,"  Senor  Presidente 
blandly  accused,  "you  are  so  lazy  that  your  debt 
is  growing  greater  than  the  value  of  your  whole 
place. '  ' 

"Not  lazy-,  senor.  Just  unlucky,'*  Juan  stut- 
tered in  contradiction  of  the  illustrious  man. 

Only  the  creak  of  the  slats,  as  Juan  shifted  un- 
easily, guiltily,  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  broke 
the  long,  intense  silence  that  followed. 

Emiliana  imagined  the  glare  that  would  greet 
such  an  affront,  and  shivered. 

"I  say  that  you  are  lazy,"  Senor  Presidente 
icily  reminded  the  presumptuous  ignorante. 

1 'Wen,  senor/'  Juan  faltered. 

Emiliana  scarcely  breathed. 

"I  can't  let  things  continue  as  they  are,"  Se- 
nor Presidente  declared.  "It  was  necessary  to 
warn  you  to-day,  although  my  beloved  nephew, 
Panfilo,  died  last  night  and  my  heart  is  very  sad. ' ' 

He  blew  his  nose  as  a  mark  of  agitation. 

"Wen,  senor/'  the  laborer  mumbled. 


THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES  251 

The  girl  stared  dumbly  at  the  promising  leaves, 
leaves  so  unusually  large  and  full  of  aroma. 

"But  you  can  do  something  to  lessen  your 
debt." 

"Wen,  senor." 

Emiliana  listened. 

"My  heart  is  kind  to  my  people,  and  I  would 
forgive  their  faults,  and  help  them  out  of  their 
difficulties. " 

The  ignorante  wondered  what  new  imposition 
he  could  anticipate  after  that  familiar  preface, 
yet  remembered  the  conventions  well  enough  to 
fill  out  the  pause  with  the  expected,  "Wen,  se- 
nor." 

The  girl  sneered. 

"You  have  a  daughter?"  Senor  Lasam  insinu- 
ated. 

"Wen,  senor." 

Become  his  mistress !  At  the  thought,  Emiliana 
cringed. 

"She  is  young  and  healthy,  and  fairly  desir- 
able as  to  form  and  beauty,"  Senor  Presidente 
conceded  in  justification  of  his  notice.  "There 
are  many  better,"  he  stated  in  belittlement  of 
the  specified  charms,  lest  undue  weight  be  given 
to  his  admission.  "Call  her." 

For  all  the  seconds  of  a  minute,  there  was  si- 
lence. The  protection  of  the  departed  El  Dange- 
roso,  with  his  swift,  inevitable,  queer,  American 
retaliations,  even  the  learned  defiance  of  Pacifico, 
would  have  warranted  a  refusal.  But  in  the  end, 


252  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Presidents 's  sure  vengeance  would  gain 
from  the  defenseless  whatever  he  was  denied.  Cen- 
turies of  oppressions  had  ingrained  in  the  fiber 
of  Juan's  caste  the  knowledge  of  the  "Immutable 
Law."  Emiliana  followed  the  creak  of  the  slats 
beneath  the  shuffle  of  Juan's  feet  toward  the  win- 
dow. 

"Emiliana,"  he  quavered,  an  agony  of  protest 
in  the  tremor  of  his  voice. 

The  girl's  instinctive  obedience  to  parental  au- 
thority restrained  her  from  an  impulsive  flight. 
She  prayed, — Oh,  how  she  prayed! — for  deliver- 
ance. 

Again  came  the  nervous  call,  "Emiliana." 

She  hesitated.  Plight  would  surrender  her  par- 
ents to  tortures  and  exactions  the  ingenuity  of 
which  she  thoroughly  appreciated.  And  what 
hope  of  escape  had  she  f  A  woman  sought  by  the 
policia!  A  few  hours  at  most  would  bring  about 
her  return  to  face  both  her  fate  and  the  suffering 
that  her  disobedience  would  cause  her  father. 

Again  the  call,  "Emiliana." 

"As  God  wills  it,"  she  moaned  in  despair, — > 
and  obeyed. 

"Passable,  very  passable!"  Senor  Lasam  ad- 
mitted, pointedly  studying  her.  "She  has  found 
favor  in  my  nephew's  eyes.  He  must  have  a 
woman  to  help  with  the  housework.  Do  you  com- 
prehend?" 

He  slapped  his  thigh  and  cackled  his  amusement 
at  the  evident  humor  of  the  insinuation.  Then 


THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES  253 

he  squirted  through  the  window  a  blood-red 
stream  from  his  chew  of  bujaf  and  fastened  his 
piggish  eyes  on  the  girl's  pulsing  form. 

"Jesu!"  he  exclaimed,  "how  she  hates  us!  But 
they  are  all  like  that — at  first."  He  patted  Gui- 
llermo  on  the  back.  ' '  She  is  a  deer,  to  be  hunted 
and  tamed."  The  disdain  in  Emiliana's  dark, 
fathomless  eyes,  the  defiance  in  her  poise,  won  his 
unwilling  admiration.  "Jesu,  but  she  is  worth 
while!"  he  ejaculated.  "It  is  lucky  for  you, 
Guillermo,  that  I  am  an  old  man ;  if  I  were  young- 
er, I  would  take  her  away  from  you." 

Intense,  furious,  the  girl  defied  them.  But  her 
burst  of  temper  only  provoked  mirthful  roars. 

"You  will  do  as  you  are  told,"  Senor  Presi- 
dente  sneered. 

The  reaction  from  the  stress  of  her  own  temer- 
ity unnerved  Emiliana. 

"I  don't  want  to  go,"  she  pleaded  with  them. 

"So?  That  doesn't  matter.  But  by-and-by 
you  will  be  glad  you  came,"  Senor  Lasam  as- 
sured her. 

His  confident  assumption  that  her  prospective 
fate  was  a  fortunate  one,  only  intensified  her  loy- 
alty to  Pacifico.  She  drew  back. 

"I  won't  go,"  she  cried,  her  voice  full,  steady, 
defiant. 

"Perhaps  she  has  a  lover,"  Guillermo  sug- 
gested. 

The  light  in  her  eyes  boasted  of  it. 


254  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Lasam  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Think- 
ing of  Pacifico,  he  rubbed  his  hands  together, 
slowly,  speculatively,  vindictively. 

"So?  Let  her  forget  him  to  whom  she  will 
never  go,"  he  advised.  "The  lover  will  remem- 
ber," he  gloated. 

Except  for  a  hard  gleam  in  the  girl's  eyes,  she 
ignored  the  taunt. 

Losing  patience  with  her  unyielding  determina- 
tion, Senor  Lasam  commanded,  "Juan,  tell  your 
daughter  that  she  has  carried  the  'Custom'  of 
resistance  far  enough.  Tell  her  it  is  time  to  de- 
sist." 

Crooking  his  fingers,  her  father  faltered,  "Wen, 
senor."  But  though  he  licked  his  lips,  no  other 
words  issued  from  his  gurgling  throat. 

Emiliana  flung  out  a  defiant  * '  No. ' ' 

Both  Senor  Presidente  and  Guillermo  stared 
at  the  girl,  at  a  woman  who  dared  to  mean  her 
refusal.  The  experience  was  a  new  one,  an  un- 
pleasant one.  Such  a  contemptuous  affront  to 
their  exalted  dignity  exasperated  them. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  insult  me,"  Guillermo  raged. 
"You  shall  regret  your  stubbornness;  I  will  buy 
you,  and  then  you  shall  learn.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Emiliana  did.  The  fate  of  Ana,  his  former 
slave  mistress,  was  fresh  in  her  mind.  Such  a 
prospect  might  entice  many  women  of  her  race, 
but  to  her,  it  was  bitter.  She  cringed  before  his 
leering  gaze. 


THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES   255 

But  when  Guillermo,  already  considering  her 
his  property,  would  have  punished  her,  she  bit 
him,  wherefore  the  enraged  pair  clubbed  her  into 
submission,  as  is  the  proper  fashion  of  subduing 
a  disobedient,  recalcitrant  woman. 

Her  father,  the  product  of  three  centuries  of 
oppression,  stood  by,  tearful,  yet  cowed  by  the 
power  and  position  of  her  assailants,  while  they 
examined  her  points,  like  a  carabao's,  and  put 
their  price  upon  her. 

"I  will  allow  you  thirty  pesos  on  your  debt," 
Senor  Presidente  decided  j — ' '  and  that  is  too  much 
after  her  insults." 

Juan  faltered  his  assenting,  "Wen,  senor,"  but 
his  resentment  was  decidedly  lessened  by  his  rec- 
ognition of  the  distinction  that  Senor  Guillermo 's 
choice  of  his  daughter  would  confer  upon  himself ; 
the  relationship  with  the  illustrious  family  would 
confer  upon  him  power  and  prestige  among  his 
fellows. 

The  people  along  the  trail  came  out  of  their 
shacks  to  shout  questions  at  the  girl  whom  Senor 
Presidente  and  his  nephew  drove  before  them— 
to  become  the  favorite  of  Guillermo 's  harem. 
Though  the  girl  with  the  bowed  head  gave  no 
answer,  the  whole  town  knew  by  nightfall  that 
Senor  Guillermo  had  chosen  a  new  " woman," 
Emiliana,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  laborer, 
Juan  Danga. 

At  twilight,  Emiliana  sat  in  the  midst  of  the 
women  of  the  household,  and  dumbly  stared  into 


256  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

her  dismal  future.  Her  companions,  envying  her, 
ridiculed  her  sorrow.  But  one,  The  Eldest,  tried 
to  comfort  her. 

"It  is  useless  to  grieve,  Little  One,"  said  she; 
"God  has  willed  it  so." 

A  tear  stole  down  Emiliana's  cheek. 

"We  must  submit  to  God's  Will." 

And  the  child  cried  on  the  breast  of  her  who 
was  "The  Eldest," — and  whose  face  bore  the 
lines  of  sorrow. 

"When  Guillermo  tires  of  you  and  brings  an- 
other, you  will  still  have  your  food  and  clothes, 
and  there  will  be  but  little  work,"  the  woman  ex- 
plained. 

"Pacifico,"  the  child  moaned  into  the  motherly 
ear;  "he  fled  their  vengeance,  and  they  have 
taken  me.  Oh,  help  me,  you  that  understand, ' '  she 
begged. 

For  an  hour,  "The  Eldest  Woman"  held  the 
limp  form  of  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  stared  out 
through  the  barred  window  into  the  far,  far  dis- 
tance. She  saw,  not  the  flashing  fire  of  the  dark, 
heavy  clouds  that  hung  upon  the  Mountains,  but 
through  them,  beyond  them,  saw  a  misty,  indis- 
tinct picture  of  The  Past,  a  blurred  Land  of  Some- 
where that  existed  only  in  her  memory  of  Once 
Upon  a  Time.  Sometimes  The  Eldest  doubted  the 
reality  of  her  memories.  Perhaps  the  golden  skies 
of  That  Time,  its  laughter  and  music,  even  the 
King  of  Somewhere,  were  only  dreams.  The  End- 
less Time  since  the  Magic  Land  had  vanished, 


THE  ELDEST  OF  THE  SLAVES   257 

measured  but  ten  years.  The  Eldest  shivered. 
Her  dark,  tired,  sad  eyes  glanced  down  at  the 
girl  cradled  in  her  arms.  But  now  there  was  a 
grave  in  the  church-yard,  and  she  alone  remem- 
bered where  it  was,  whose  it  was.  And  some- 
times a  flower  decked  it.  And  that  grave  WAS 
a  reality ! 

Her  eyes  were  limpid  and  moist  as  she  bent  over 
and  kissed  the  girl's  quivering  lips.  Perhaps  she 
only  planted  a  long,  long,  lingering  kiss  on  the  lit- 
tle ear.  Perhaps.  Who  knows?  Aloud,  she  ad- 
vised, "Please  your  master.  It  is  the  best  way." 

Emiliana  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  laughed, — de- 
risively. 

"That  is  so  much  better,  Little  One,"  The  Eld- 
est approved.  "It  is  well  to  be  cheerful;  a  sober 
face  chills  a  man." 

But  when  Guillermo  sought  Emiliana  that  night, 
she  was  gone.  His  frantic  search  for  her  availed 
but  to  reveal  the  door  of  the  secret  passage  im- 
perfectly latched ; — wherefore  he  beat  The  Eldest 
Woman  for  her  carelessness,  and  vowed  many 
punishments  for  Emiliana  when  he  should  find  her 
again. 

But  though  the  police  searched  every  barrio, 
every  rancho,  every  field,  every  shack,  every 
jungle,  every  trail,  they  found  no  trace  of  her. 
And  not  even  a  rumor  of  her  whereabouts  reached 
them  in  answer  to  their  many  inquiries. 

Senor  Guillermo  personally  searched  the  shack 
of  Pio  Baliuag,  suspected  of  concealing  her  only 


258  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

because  he  was  Pacifioo  's  father.  Pio  fawned  and 
cringed,  and  directed  all  inquisitive  eyes  to  every 
bare  corner  of  the  room,  even  to  the  single  ob- 
struction, a  mound  of  suffocating  tobacco  leaves 
that  hid  from  the  notice  of  visitors  the  most  di- 
lapidated portion  of  the  bamboo  slat-floor.  "With 
her  hands,  Pio's  woman  energetically  scooped  the 
scattered  leaves  high,  high  up  out  of  the  way  of 
the  illustrious  senor's  feet.  And  no  Evil  Spirit 
suggested  that  Emiliana's  trembling  form  agi- 
tated that  pile  of  tobacco  leaves. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    WAIL    OF    THE    CAKABAO 

THE  little,  shriveled  Senor  Caronan  laughed 
silently. 

"So?"  he  chuckled,  a  noiseless  chuckle  that  was 
more  a  muscular  spasm  than  an  indication  of 
mirth.  "So  Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam 
and  his  nephew,  Guillermo,  would  claim  the  ap- 
proval of  God  for  their  administration  of  the  af- 
fairs of  Badi,  because  no  member  of  their  family 
has  had  the  cholera?"  He  chuckled  again.  "And 
last  night,  Senor  Lasam  '&  youngest  nephew,  Pan- 
filo,  died  with  the  cholera,"  he  laughed. 

"Jesu!"  exclaimed  Pacifico.  But  for  the  mo- 
ment, the  shock  of  the  news  stunned  his  compre- 
hension of  its  full  import. 

"And  you  alone  dared  to  oppose  Senor  Lasam 's 
reelection!"  Senor  Caronan  meditated.  "Very 
wise!  Very  courageous!  Perhaps  a  little  too 
daring !  And  if  you  had  not  escaped  without  bury- 
ing the  corpses,  perhaps  the  death  of  hia  oppo- 
nent with  cholera  would  have  confirmed  his  claim 
of  having  God's  approval.  A  very  shrewd  plan." 

The  far-reaching  effect  of  Panfilo  's  death  upon 
the  campaign  in  Badi  flashed  into  Pacifico 's  mind. 

259 


260  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"Panfilo's  death  from  cholera  will  convince  the 
people,  and  they  will  elect  Senor  Guarrin,"  the  lad 
exulted. 

Senor  Caronan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  To 
him,  the  facts  of  life,  as  experience  had  taught 
them,  were  matters  of  indifference,  matters  not 
worth  an  outburst  of  wrath. 

"The  people  are  fools,  and  ignorant,"  he  re- 
minded Pacifico.  "Some  explanation,  perhaps 
this,  perhaps  that,  will  make  even  such  a  catastro- 
phe as  Panfilo's  death  appear  a  misfortune  suf- 
fered for  befriending  the  people.  The  people  are 
fools.'1 

But  surely,  the  people  will  see  that  supporting 
Senor  Lasam  will  not  save  them  from  cholera!" 
Pacifico  argued. 

"The  people  are  fools,"  Senor  Caronan  re- 
peated. "Who  will  remind  them  of  Guillermo's 
words?  You  have  fled." 

The  sharp  declaration  seemed  an  accusation,  a 
charge  that  a  duty  had  been  evaded.  Pacifico 
dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides,  as  though  he  would 
drop  every  defense  but  that  in  the  simplicity  of 
the  statement; — "I  knew  that  they  would  kill  me, 
if  I  stayed  in  Badi." 

"Unh,"  Senor  Caronan  grunted  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  that  evident  fact.  He  paced  across  the 
room  and  back  again.  "Senor  Lasam  was  very 
careless,  else  you  would  not  have  been  warned," 
he  stated  in  criticism  of  his  enemy's  sagacity. 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CAKABAO       261 

"So  you  want  to  live  in  Mapia?  To  be  my  serv- 
ant?" 

"Si,  senor." 

"And  you  speak  English?" 

"Si,  senor.  For  five  years,  I  served  the  great 
American,  El  Dangeroso,  and  always  spoke  Eng- 
lish with  him,  until  now  I  speak  the  language  like 
an  American,"  Pacifico  proudly  explained;  "El 
Dangeroso  himself  has  said  it." 

Senor  Caronan's  calculating  eyes  measured  the 
lad.  They  approved  of  him.  His  decision  was  as 
abrupt,  as  direct,  as  his  attention  to  the  lad's  im- 
personal narrative  of  events  in  Badi  had  seemed 
indifferent. 

"I  will  make  you  one  of  Mapia 's  Town  Clerks; 
and  you  can  interpret  for  me  when  the  American 
Officials  come  here." 

Pacifico 's  eyes  sparkled.  Very  gravely,  he 
thanked  his  benefactor  for  this  unexpected  prefer- 
ment. Only  an  enormous  respect  for  the  dignity 
of  a  presidente  restrained  him  from  dancing  about 
the  room.  The  social  distinction,  the  independ- 
ence of  his  new,  Official  Position  colored  life  with 
gay  and  gaudy  hues  and  promised  a  quick  fulfil- 
ment of  his  dearest  dream.  At  most,  but  a  few 
weeks  would  pass  before  Emiliana  could  come  to 
him.  His  longings  sang,  "Emiliana,"  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  unknown,  wonderful  chords,  now 
plaintive,  now  majestic,  yet  always  joyful,  which 
his  imagination  struck  on  the  harp-strings  of  his 
heart.  His  dreams  that  night  were  a  jumble  of 


262  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

his  sweetheart,  his  American  friends,  Town- 
Clerks,  interpreters,  and  phantoms  of  Senor  La- 
sam  and  hard  work. 

The  duties  of  a  Town-Clerk  proved  simple,  re- 
quiring but  neatness  and  care,  and  Pacifico  quickly 
mastered  the  details  of  the  work.  At  first,  he 
lolled  more  over  the  records,  smoked  his  cigar 
with  greater  gusto,  changed  his  pen  oftener,  and 
altogether  made  more  fuss  over  his  task,  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  clerks,  who  were  thoroughly  ac- 
customed to  the  sense  of  their  own  importance. 
But  he  carefully  hid  his  antics  from  his  colleagues ; 
the  ado  was  intended  merely  to  convince  himself 
that  he  had  really  become  a  principals,  one  of  the 
class  born  to  rule.  Within  a  couple  of  days,  the 
novelty  wore  away  and  he  settled  down  to  a  more 
sedate  attention  to  business. 

As  Official  Interpreter,  Pacifico  lived  with  Senor 
Caronan,  an  arrangement  that  permitted  Senor 
Presidente  to  pose  before  his  people  as  a  student 
of  English.  The  pretence  gratified  both  his  own 
vanity  and  public  pride  in  him.  Of  greater  value, 
Pacifico 's  sincere  efforts  to  teach  the  old  man 
English  occupied  the  lad's  thoughts  at  meal  hours 
and  in  the  evenings,  to  the  partial  exclusion  of  the 
depression  which  otherwise  might  have  overpow- 
ered him. 

Just  a  week  after  his  arrival  in  Mapia,  Pacifico 
mentioned  his  sense  of  foreboding,  the  feeling  that 
some  impending  disaster  threatened  him. 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO       263 

Senor  Caronan  glanced  at  the  lad's  drawn  face, 
and  smiled  sympathetically. 

"It  is  the  great  longing  for  the  gossip  and 
laughter  of  friends,"  he  explained,  "which  al- 
ways comes  at  night  to  those  who  are  not  ac- 
customed to  being  away  from  home.  It  will  pass, ' ' 
he  comforted.  "Let  us  think  of  our  dinner;  we 
have  enough  troubles  ahead  of  us  this  afternoon, 
and  it  is  seldom  that  we  have  such  excellent  veni- 
son." 

El  Sargento  entered  from  the  Assembly  Hall  of 
the  Tribunal. 

"Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam  of  Badi, 
for  a  visit,"  the  policeman  announced,  unctuously 
rolling  out  the  syllables  that  he  might  do  full  credit 
to  his  Official  Position  of  Sargento  de  Policia. 

The  single  word  "Jesu!"  was  Senor  Caronan 's 
only  betrayal  of  surprise.  He  hastened  out  of  the 
smaller  room,  and  gushed,  "Well,  well,  my  friend! 
This  is  a  pleasure." 

The  two  enemies  fervently  shook  hands. 

Trembling,  certain  that  his  foreboding  was 
about  to  be  fulfilled,  Pacifico  crept  to  the  door 
through  which  Senor  Caronan  had  just  passed. 

"How  is  that!"  he  heard  Senor  Caronan  ask. 
"You  did  not  pass  through  Mapia  this  morning." 

"The  direct  trail  between  Badi  and  Dacal  is 
quite  passable  at  the  present  time, ' '  Senor  Lasam 
explained. 

"Unh,"  Senor  Caronan  commented.  Other  than 
that  he  waited  in  silence  for  Senor  Lasam  to  ex- 


264  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

plain  his  reason  for  taking  the  indirect  trail  upon 
returning. 

"  Business  compelled  me  to  make  the  trip,  al- 
though I  have  had  a  great  sorrow,"  Senor  Lasam 
wailed.  He  paused  while  he  trumpeted  his  nose. 
"My  nephew,  Panfilo,  died  with  the  cholera." 
Senor  Lasam  repeated  the  symbol  of  grief.  "He 
was  a  good  boy,  a  smart  boy." 

Senor  Caronan  solicitously  tendered  the  conven- 
tional condolences. 

"I  hope  to  see  you  at  the  wake,"  Senor  Lasam 
invited.  ' '  Jesu  f  Then  you  will  see  a  woman ! "  he 
exclaimed,  his  eyes  sparkling.  "But  such  a  tem- 
per! Guillermo  has  a  task  before  him,  I  say; — 
to  tame  her!  Jesu!" 

A  terrible  expectancy  gripped  Pacifico ;  the  lad 
clenched  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his  hands.  But 
Senor  Caronan 's  voice  revealed  only  a  languid, 
polite  interest. 

"Who  is  she?"  the  little,  old  man  asked, — to 
satisfy  the  demands  of  courtesy. 

Senor  Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam 's  corpu- 
lency swelled  to  the  full  limit  that  the  added  strain 
on  the  buttons  of  his  coat  would  allow,  and  his 
eyes  gloate'd  over  the  weazened,  despised  Caro- 
nan, whose  officious  protection  of  Pacifico  had 
failed  to  ward  off  this  shrewd  revenge  on  that 
young,  ignorante  upstart.  That  he  might  lose 
none  of  the  relish  of  his  triumph,  Senor  Lasam 
fondly  tongued  the  name,  "E-mi-li-a-na,  the  beau- 
tiful daughter  of  the  laborer,  Juan  Da-nga." 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO       265 

Speech,  thought,  understanding  paralyzed,  Pa- 
cifico  swayed, — tottered, — sank  to  the  floor.  Like 
a  dumb  beast,  he  could  only  feel. 

Senor  Caronan  heard  the  name  with  that  same, 
guileless,  innocent,  mask-like  expression  that  al- 
ways accompanied  his  dealings  with  his  enemies. 
It  revealed  nothing.  But  as  he  remembered  that 
Emiliana  was  the  name  of  a  woman  whom  Pacifico 
had  planned  to  bring  to  Mapia  in  the  near  fu- 
ture, he  comprehended.  And  Guillermo  had  taken 
her!  Senor  Caronan  was  well  acquainted  with 
Guillermo,  and  correctly  assumed  the  method  of 
the  taking.  By  FORCE !  And  just  to  boast  of 
it,  Senor  Lasam  had  traveled  the  more  arduous, 
triangular  trail,  instead  of  the  direct  one  between 
Dacal  and  Badi?  Now,  among  the  people  of  the 
North  Provinces,  the  man  who  could,  with  im- 
punity, flaunt  his  evil  triumph  over  Senor  Caro- 
nan in  Senor  Caronan 's  presence  and  in  Senor 
Caronan 's  own  Town  of  Mapia,  immediately  won 
a  reputation  for  marvelous  sagacity.  Senor  Caro- 
nan appreciated  what  the  public  would  anticipate. 
Suitable  retaliation!  Senor  Caronan  expected  to 
manage  that.  Or  to  get  the  girl,  which  would 
prove  a  greater  humiliation  for  Senor  Lasam. 

Senor  Caronan 's  eyelids  scarcely  flickered. 

"Well,  well!  Your  nephew  is  lucky  in  finding 
such  an  attractive  woman,"  he  complimented. 
"E-mi-!i-a-na?"  he  pondered,  and  shook  his  head. 
* '  I  don 't  know  her. '  ' 

Senor  Lasam  meant  the  point  to  be  clear. 


266  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

"She  was  the  affianced  of  Pacifico  Baliuag,"  he 
remarked,  most  casually. 

"So!"  Senor  Caronan  exclaimed.  "Well,  well, 
friend,  you  HAVE  rendered  the  boy  a  good  serv- 
ice ;  he  is  well  rid  of  the  faithless  hussy.  I  thank 
you  for " 

Senor  Lasam  interrupted.  Only  the  whole  tale 
could  effectively  elucidate  the  sting  of  the  inge- 
nious revenge,  the  extent  of  his  own  power  over 
the  people.  With  many  an  amused  snicker  in  ap- 
preciation of  his  own  sagacity,  he  told  how  he  had 
kept  Juan  Danga  in  peonage,  how  Guillermo  had 
coveted  the  daughter  in  vain,  how  he  had  taken 
her  in  part  payment  of  Juan's  much  paid  debt, 
how  uncle  and  nephew  had  clubbed  her  into  sub- 
mission and  had  driven  her  before  them  on  the 
trail. 

Senor  Lasam  did  not  hear  the  sobs  which  punc- 
tuated his  tale.  But  Senor  Caronan  did. 

"Well,  well!  Women  are  strange,"  the  little 
man  commented.  ' '  Sometimes  it  takes  much  show 
of  force  to  make  a  woman  stop  her  shamming  and 
accept  what  her  ambitions  really  aim  at. ' ' 

Such  obtuseness  angered  Senor  Lasam. 

' '  The  little  fool ! "  he  yelled.  ' l  She  meant  it,  and 
ran  away;  when  Guillermo  sought  her,  she  was 
gone.  The  fool!"  he  sneered.  " Think  of  all  that 
Guillermo  would  have  given  her !  But  now?"  The 
sweep  of  his  hand  was  expressive. 

Senator  Caronan  smiled,  and  that  slight  flicker 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CABABAO       267 

of  the  lips  checked  Senor  Lasam's  imprudent 
speech.  Senor  Lasam  rushed  on  with  his  expla- 
nation. 

"Guillermo  couldn't  foresee  the  treason  of  'The 
Eldest  "Woman/  who  aided  the  girl's  escape.  And 
her  lover's  father  shall  feel  our  vengeance  for  his 
presumption  in  hiding  her,"  he  threatened.  "I 
found  her  this  morning  on  my  way  to  Dacal,  and 
the  women  won't  allow  her  to  get  away  again;  a 
flogging  teaches  obedience,"  he  hissed. 

Senor  Caronan's  most  hearty  congratulations 
did  not  lessen  the  zest  of  Senor  Lasam's  enjoy- 
ment. Very  loftily,  and  thoroughly  satisfied  with 
himself  and  the  situation,  Senor  Presidente  Don 
Miguel  Lasam  of  Badi  took  his  departure. 

"You  'hard-head'!"  Senor  Caronan  contempt- 
uously muttered,  as  he  sauntered  back  to  finish  his 
interrupted  luncheon,  and  to  plan.  In  the  door- 
way, he  stumbled  over  Pacifico.  He  paused. 
Thoughtfully,  he  studied  the  heap  huddled  on  the 
floor.  Not  a  pang  of  his  servant's  despair  escaped 
his  comprehension.  An  amusing  plan  suggested 
itself; — he  smiled.  His  long,  careful  survey  of 
the  boy  had  estimated  the  soul  within,  and  the  es- 
timate pleased  him.  He  laughed,  sardonically,  and 
knelt  beside  his  interpreter,  and  his  voice  purred 
into  Pacifico 's  ear. 

Pacifico  groaned. 

Senor  Caronan's  voice  purred  on. 

Pacifico  listened. 

The  purr  grew  tenser. 


268  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Pacifico  raised  his  eyes  to  a  beautiful,  keen- 
edged  war-bolo  that  hung  on  the  wall. 

Then,  and  only  then,  the  purring  ceased,  and 
Senor  Caronan  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

The  fascinating  war-bolo ! 

Pacifico  crept  stealthily  toward  the  wall. 

Not  the  bows  and  poisoned  arrows,  nor  the  long- 
shafted,  poison-tipped,  barbed  spear-heads,  nor 
the  blunderbusses  of  a  former  time — mere  hunt- 
ing weapons  according  to  the  Official  List  on  file 
with  the  Government  at  Manila, — held  his  atten- 
tion. His  eyes  fondled  the  bolos,  the  strange, 
strange  working-bolos !  Some  were  single-edged 
and  some  were  double,  some  were  pointed  and 
some  were  not,  some  were  keen  and  sharp  and 
bright,  and  some  were  rusty  with  human  blood. 
His  imagination  pictured  many  a  silent,  sure  death 
scene.  But  the  center-piece  of  the  fantastic  de- 
sign on  the  wall,  fascinated  him  above  all.  He 
lifted  the  heavy  blade  down  from  its  resting  place. 
Its  metallic  clink  against  its  fellows  rang  sharply 
in  the  silence; — and  Pacifico 's  sardonic  laugh 
ended  in  a  fierce  cry;  that  bolo  was  made  to  bite 
the  neck  of  Guillermo. 

In  the  meantime,  Senor  Caronan  summoned  El 
Sargento. 

"Take  three  men  and  six  extra  ponies,  and  ride 
to  Badi,"  he  commanded. 

"Wen,  senor." 

"Take  the  short  trail,  and  spare  not  your 
ponies,  for  you  must  reach  there  before  Senor 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO       269 

Presidente  Don  Miguel  Lasam, — and  no  one  must 
see  you." 

"Wen,  senor." 

"Stop  at  the  barrio  of  Andarrian." 

"Wen,  senor." 

"Arrest  the  parents  of  Pacifico  Baliuag  and  of 
Emiliana  Danga,  and  hurry  back  to  Mapia  with 
them." 

"Wen,  senor." 

A  certain,  cool,  intense  glitter  in  the  little  man's 
dark,  guileless  eyes  warned  El  Sargento  to  re- 
strain his  curiosity  and  suggested  the  extreme  ad- 
visability of  haste  and  silence — particularly  si- 
lence. El  Sargento  had  seen  that  gleam  in  those 
eyes  at  other  times — on  occasions.  And  El  Sar- 
gento knew — what  he  knew.  El  Sargento  under- 
stood, thoroughly.  He  bowed  to  the  ground,  and 
hurried  away. 

"Tortures  for  them  shall  not  compel  the  lad's 
surrender.  I  shall  teach  them  to  say  that  they 
feared  Senor  Lasam 's  vengeance,  and  came  to 
Mapia  for  my  protection,"  Senor  Caronan 
chuckled  to  himself.  Aloud,  he  called  a  policeman. 
"Saddle  my  spirited  Brown  Pony  at  once,  and 
tie  it  in  the  shade  of  the  mango  tree  across  the 
road,"  he  ordered;  "I  shall  wish  to  ride." 

But  shortly  afterwards,  Senor  Caronan  silently 
watched  Pacifico  mount  that  fleetest  of  the  town 
ponies  and  ride  away. 

And  nobody  else  raised  an  outcry  at  the  theft. 


270  THE  SON  OP  PIO 

The  little  animal  held  the  fond  illusion  that  it 
was  running  away  with  its  rider.  In  reality,  a 
savage  exaltation  claimed  the  lad.  Blood,  Death, 
Justice  his  Mission,  the  wild  joy  of  his  ancestors 
in  raid  for  a  mate  gripped  him.  All  douht,  all  de- 
spair gone,  the  prowess  of  his  arm  should  win  his 
mistress,  and  sustain  them  both  in  the  free  life  of 
the  Mountains.  Bolo  in  hand  and  the  reins  hang- 
ing limply  from  a  wrist,  the  heavy,  thong-bound, 
steel  whip  stretched  out  at  full  arm's  length,  he 
allowed  the  impatient  little  pony  to  set  the  pace 
until  the  copper-green  clay  of  The  Bluff  hid  them 
from  chance  observers. 

The  cut  of  the  lash!  A  snort  of  fright!  And 
they  dashed  along  the  river-bank  at  the  foot  of 
the  bare  hills,  dashed  under  the  leaning,  earthen 
cliff  that  threatened  to  topple  into  the  waters  be- 
low and  to  choke  them,  dashed  on  and  on  and  on. 
The  death-dealing  Cagayan,  Father  of  Waters, 
swept  past  in  a  treacherous,  majestic,  murky  calm, 
and  wended  its  way  northward  to  the  sea.  The 
sun  in  its  downward  march,  flung  the  merciless 
heat  of  its  slanting  rays  upon  them. 

From  the  river's  bank,  they  turned  into  the 
tunnel-like  passage  through  the  pampas-grass 
swamp.  The  harsh,  saw-like  leaves,  towering  high 
above  them  and  drooping  down  again,  fringed  the 
Trail  with  a  barricade  of  pain  that  slashed  and 
ripped  and  tore  both  skin  and  hide.  In  the  dank, 
heavy  humidity  of  the  sunless  depths,  the  blood- 
tinted  foam  congealed  on  the  pony's  steaming, 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CAKABAO       271 

straining,  tired  flanks.  And  sometimes,  the  hairy 
shoulders  shivered, — perhaps  quivered  for  the 
salty  sting  of  the  ruddy  perspiration  that  dripped 
in  swiftly  recurring  rhythm  from  the  rider's  face. 
The  impatient  lash,  adding  to  the  pony's  collection 
of  gashes,  always  insisting  upon  another  stum- 
bling burst  of  speed,  nagged  and  nagged  the  lit- 
tle animal's  struggles  through  the  slimy,  oozy, 
knee-deep  slush.  Neither  the  heaving  sobs,  almost 
human,  nor  the  mute,  appealing  eyes,  won  mercy. 

With  torturing  visions  of  HER  danger  in  the 
hands  of  such  a  captor,  with  visions  of  the  things 
that  might  be,  for  the  lad's  goad;  with  vengeance 
his  goal;  what  mattered  a  pony's  agony  on  the 
trail! 

The  little  animal  staggered  out  of  the  swamp. 

Only  the  worn  surface  of  rocks  traced  the  line 
of  the  Trail  over  the  rolling,  jagged  hills.  Climb- 
ing upwards,  the  pony  slipped  on  the  smooth 
stones,  or  gained  but  a  dubious  foothold,  and  the 
effort  of  a  moderate  pace  seemed  almost  to  tear 
its  muscles  apart.  Stumbling  downward  again, 
it  cautiously  searched  with  its  unshod  hoofs  among 
the  boulders  for  a  secure  footing.  Its  spirit  gone, 
its  strength  on  the  wane,  it  retained  scarcely 
enough  ambition  to  switch  its  tail  at  the  flies  gath- 
ered in  the  gashes  on  its  flanks.  The  -  lash  fell, 
unheeded ! 

From  the  last  rise,  Pacifico  caught  sight  of 
Senor  Lasam,  Pedro  Tallud,  and  El  Sargento  of 
Badi,  just  as  the  cavalcade  passed  into  the  shade 


272  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

of  a  small  jungle.  He  reined  up.  Hate  scorched 
his  brain.  A  savage  lust  for  battle,  for  revenge, 
grew  upon  him,  grew  until  a  terrible,  muttered 
oath  escaped  him. 

The  pony  heard.  Snorting,  its  head  held  high 
in  a  proud  anxiety  to  pass  those  before,  respond- 
ing to  its  rider's  sudden,  involuntary  tension, 
which  some  instinct  prompted  was  the  call  for  its 
great  life  effort,  the  little  animal  flew  after  the 
three,  and  swiftly  consumed  the  short  lead  that 
still  remained  from  a  half -hour  start. 

The  trees,  smothered  in  the  embrace  of  twining 
vines,  flashed  by,  and  their  chill  enveloped  pony 
and  rider.  Pacifico  shivered, — and  bent  low  over 
the  twitching,  anxious  ears. 

Just  ahead,  a  brook,  nesting  ground  of  the  croc- 
odiles, barricaded  the  trail.  El  Sargento  stood  at 
the  forward  end  of  the  bamboo  floating-bridge. 
His  legs  apart  and  feet  braced  against  the  sup- 
ports of  the  side-railing,  bamboo  stringer  from  the 
opposite  bank  in  hand,  he  prepared  to  pull  the 
trio  across.  A  proud  tyrant  among  his  menials, 
Senor  Lasam  sat  his  pony,  ponderously.  Tallud 
fawned  at  the  rear,  and  soothed  the  nervous,  ex- 
cited ponies. 

Shouting  a  fierce,  vengeful,  exultant  challenge, 
Pacifico  dashed  down  the  steep  embankment.  His 
cry  startled  the  pursued  and  their  mounts  into  a 
confused,  struggling  commotion.  The  bolo,  leaden 
in  the  gloom,  and  the  fiendish  hatred  in  the  boy's 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CAEABAO       273 

face,  warned  them  of  doom.  But  he  was  upon  them 
before  they  could  resist  him. 

The  pony  leaped  to  the  bridge,  and  the  jar  top- 
pled the  ill  balanced  Sargento  among  the  baby 
crocodiles.  Terror  squeezed  the  man's  eyeballs 
from  their  sockets.  Pacifico  laughed.  The  speed 
of  his  approach  lending  force  to  his  arm, — a  sing- 
ing swish, — the  crunch  of  metal  upon  vibrating 
flesh  and  bone — and  Tallud's  head  rolled  beneath 
a  pony's  hoofs. 

"That  you  may  forget  your  many  perjuries," 
Pacifico  shouted. 

He  pressed  between  the  frantic,  riderless  ponies, 
which  plunged  and  reared  at  the  lurching  of  the 
bridge,  and  laid  his  strong,  young  hands  upon 
Senor  Lasam.  The  feel  of  the  weak,  greasy,  de- 
generate body,  quivering  as  at  touch  of  hell-fire, 
the  cackling  gurgle  of  the  words  which  fear 
strangled  at  birth,  gave  him  a  new  strength.  He 
toppled  Senor  Lasam  to  the  little  crocodiles  in  the 
brook. 

"That  you  may  meditate  yet  a  while  on  your 
sins,"  he  cursed. 

Unconscious  of  the  gurgled  screams  and  implor- 
ings  of  El  Sargento  and  master,  blind  to  tEeir 
frantic,  fright-paralyzed  struggles  against  the  wa- 
ter and  the  worrying  attack  of  the  baby  crocodiles, 
the  once  despised  Pacifico  drew  the  bridge  to  the 
other  bank,  and  continued  his  avenging  flight  on 
Senor  Lasam 's  less  spent  mount. 


274  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

With  its  head  hanging  low,  Senor  Caronan's 
"Spirited  Brown  Pony"  staggered  laboriously 
along  the  backward  trail  toward  home.  Half  way 
across  the  rolling  hills,  the  little  animal  made  way 
for  the  headlong  rush  of  another  diminutive  horse, 
a  gray  pony  that  carried  a  gigantic  rider.  The 
"Fleetest  Pony  of  the  Town"  neighed  a  feeble 
greeting  to  its  comrade  in  Senor  Caronan's  pack, 
and  the  plaintive  hail  checked  the  reckless  haste 
of  the  "Stalwart  Gray." 

The  strange  rider  stared. 

To  Senor  American  Provincial  Treasurer,  the 
gashes  on  the  spent  pony's  flanks  signaled  the 
tale  of  a  terrible  ride. 

The  white  man  swore. 

"I'd  like  to  forget  what  a  square  little  runt  old 
Caronan  is,  and  beat  him  up,"  he  growled. 
"Wasting  a  whole  hour  before  telling  me  about 
the  kid's  scrape!  Hell!" 

Because  none  but  pony  ears  could  understand 
the  explanation  in  the  eloquence  of  the  dumb 
brute's  neigh,  because  there  was  nothing  else  to 
do,  the  American  decided  on  further  haste, — and 
strain, — and  hope. 

"If  I  can  head  the  kid  off,  and  get  the  girl 
away  from  Guillermo, — damn  him, — there  is  still  a 
chance  to,  save  the  lad  from  outlawry,"  he  as- 
sured himself.  "But  it  is  up  to  you,  little  Gray," 
he  soothed,  "you  pony  'strong  enough  to  race  to 
Badi  with  the  weight  of  an  American  on  your 
back'!" 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO       275 

And  so  Senor  American  Provincial  Treasurer 
spurred  onward,  and  muttered  curses,  and  ached, 
and  fortified  himself,  against  doubt  and  anxiety, 
— until  he  came  to  the  scene  of  the  lad's  compre- 
hensive retribution.  The  purring  brook's  word- 
less story  pointed  out  the  utter  futility  of  con- 
tinuing the  wild  effort  to  overtake  Pacifico,  and 
suggested  the  tingling  pleasure  to  be  found  in 
shooting  baby  crocodiles.  But  Senor  American 
Treasurer  never  forgot  the  appearance  of  the 
three  corpses. 

Far  ahead,  Pacifico  flashed  past  the  straggling 
clumps  of  bamboo  and  past  occasional  mango  trees 
and  banana  palms  scattered  upon  the  flat,  scorched 
plain, — lashed  the  pony  through  the  lone  thicket 
of  guava  brush, — urged  his  lagging  mount  be- 
tween the  long  line  of  lofty,  bare  poles  that  raised 
the  leafy  heads  of  cocoanut  and  buja  palms  above 
the  last  stretch  of  the  Trail. 

The  short  twilight  hour,  promise  of  a  fit  veil  for 
a  bolo's  deeds,  brought  the  lad  a  strange,  peace- 
ful satisfaction, — although  the  pony  now  merely 
plodded  along  without  the  speed  that  may  soothe 
a  vengeance-laden  mind. 

At  the  bank,  Pacifico  drove  the  animal  into  the 
Cagayan,  and  clambered  aboard  the  dug-out  canoe. 
The  chill  of  the  water  quenched  the  fire  in  the 
gashes  on  the  pony's  flanks,  and  brought  a  painless 
stupor;  only  Pacifico 's  supporting  hand  at  the 
bridle  kept  the  inert,  dragging,  living  mass  from 
sinking  passively  to  its  death.  The  boat  crawled 


276  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

across  the  sleepy  surface  of  the  river.  A  black 
bulwark  on  the  horizon,  like  a  guard  of  the  silent 
night,  loomed  the  farther  bank.  In  its  shadow, 
Pacifico  paid  the  fare  of  two  copper  dackers. 

The  boy's  exultation,  the  bloody  bolo,  awed  the 
boatman  into  a  blindness  which  recognized  neither 
pony  nor  rider.  But  later  in  the  night,  with  lo- 
quacious particularity  and  great  timidity,  with 
many  a  "Santa  Maria"  and  Guardian  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  the  Filipino  described  his  weird  passen- 
ger, El  Diablo,  horned  and  monstrous — and  stingy. 
But  the  American  Treasurer  scarcely  listened  to 
the  vivid  tale  of  "The  Devil." 

That  none  might  discover  him,  or  shout  a  warn- 
ing of  his  presence,  Pacifico  rode  back  into  the 
country  and  approached  the  town  from  the  hills. 
No  recollection,  no  memory,  no  feeling  could  pene- 
trate through  the  shroud  of  his  grim  mission,  and 
the  familiar  scene  struck  no  chord  of  emotion 
within  him.  He  halted  behind  Guillermo  's  house. 

In  one  of  the  rooms,  Emiliana  tussled  with 
Senor  Lasam's  nephew,  and  sought  to  hide  from 
the  man,  by  the  intensity  of  her  defiance,  the  grad- 
ual ebbing  of  her  strength.  And  then,  bringing 
memories  of  Pacifico,  the  sad,  plaintive  wail  of  a 
carabao  floated  down  from  the  hills.  Emiliana 
faced  her  tormentor  with  a  fury  that  Guillermo 
had  never  found  in  the  women  of  his  race. 

Confident,  exultant,  nearer,  the  wail  swelled 
through  the  quiet. 

Emiliana  listened. 


Fierce,  savage,  the  wail  pierced  the  night. 

With  one  great  effort,  Emiliana  flung  herself 
and  Guillermo  before  the  barred  window.  In  a 
moment,  the  swaying,  straining 'bodies  stumbled 
back  out  of  the  hazy  light  that  bored  through  the 
darkness  of  the  night. 

The  struggle  called  Pacifico,  called  him  irresist- 
ibly. 

Wild,  mocking,  demoniac,  tender,  the  wail  of  the 
carabao  rose  once  more. 

Then  Pacifico  climbed  through  the  window  next 
to  that  from  which  the  light  flickered.  His  bolo 
slipped  from  his  hand  and  clattered  to  the  floor. 
But  Guillermo 's  passion  had  thrown  a  stupor  over 
his  ears;  he  heard  nothing,  neither  the  creeping, 
creaky  approach  of  Death,  nor  the  click  of  bolo  on 
floor-slats.  And  the  Woman,  suddenly  grown  coy, 
half  yielding,  half  defiant,  held  Guillermo 's  eyes 
upon  her  own  beautiful  face,  with  his  back  to- 
ward the  danger,  until  her  lover 's  bolo,  clasped  in 
both  hands,  dropped  far  behind  his  shoulders. 
Then  she  gathered  Guillermo 's  fingers  in  one  hand, 
passed  the  other  down  over  his  fevered  brow  to 
his  eyes ; — and  he  sighed  his  content  at  his  mastery 
of  her.  With  all  her  strength,  she  pressed  his  head 
back  until  his  neck  cracked.  Unerring,  gaining 
terrible  speed  from  its  far,  low  resting  place,  the 
bolo  swung  in  fury. 

Perhaps  two  hours  later,  the  American  Treas- 
urer and  the  Senor  Padre  of  Dacal  broke  down 
the  door  of  the  room. 


278  THE  SON  OF  PIO 

Senor  Padre  did  not  understand  at  first.  He 
stared  at  the  head  so  carelessly  kicked  into  a  cor- 
ner, until  the  passion  petrified  on  the  face  gave 
him  the  clue  to  the  incentive  for  the  murder. 

"The  cause  was  sufficient,"  he  judged.  "It 
doesn't  matter;  it  was  the  Will  of  God,"  he  ex- 
plained to  the  white  Official  in  excusing  the  un- 
known perpetrator.  Then  he  crossed  himself. 

The  American  turned  away  from  the  body. 

"Poor  kid,"  he  muttered.  He  shook  his  head. 
"Anyhow,  I'm  glad  I'm  not  the  Chief  of  Constabu- 
lary," he  told  the  wind;  "I  won't  have  to  hunt 
the  lad." 

Americans  of  North  Province  tell  of  the  con- 
sideration shown  them  by  a  certain  young  Clerk 
of  Mapia  who  speaks  English.  Some  Americans 
have  never  seen  the  young  man.  The  Chief  of 
Constabulary  and  the  American  Provincial  Treas- 
urer have  not. 

But  the  Chief  of  Constabulary  will  entertain 
you  for  hours  with  tales  about  the  outlaw,  El 
Diablo, — except  when  he  is  smarting  under  a  fresh 
reprimand  from  his  Chief  in  Manila  for  his  failure 
to  capture  that  robber  after  some  characteristic 
raid. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  will  tell  you,  "but  El  Dia- 
blo never  robs  a  town  that  is  markedly  friendly 
to  the  Americans.  But  God  pity  the  native  Offi- 
cials that  oppress  the  people.  Why  sometimes  he 
even  risks  a  raid  just  to  beat  up  a  prominent  prin- 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  CARABAO       279 

dpale  for  having  flogged  some  poor  old  common 
ignorante.  The  bad  ones  among  the  native  presi- 
dentes  are  afraid  of  him,  while  the  Filipino  Offi- 
cials loyal  to  us  Americans  rather  defend  him, 
even  call  him  "The  Brown  El  Dangeroso."  Their 
attitude  is  what  makes  it  so  damned  hard  to  catch 
him;  I  can't  get  any  information  out  of  anybody. 
Pump  the  ignorantes?  Gad!  El  Diablo  is  their 
god!  Who  is  he?  I  don't  know.  Wish  I  did." 

Sometimes  he  whispers  a  suspicion  that  Senor 
Caronan  of  Mapia  is  actively  in  league  with  El 
Diablo,  and  sends  an  expedition  into  the  hills  be- 
hind that  town.  But  it  discovers — nothing. 


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